


The Witcher: Of Fire & Roses

by Vospader21



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Continuation, Empress Cirilla Fiona Ellen Riannon, F/M, Politics, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-16 21:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vospader21/pseuds/Vospader21
Summary: The time of the sword & axe is over. Ciri now sits the throne of Nilfgaard. She attempts to help the world heal after years of brutal war but a new threat appears and as fate would have it so too does a new witcher. Meril, the first new witcher in a century, has embarked on the path only to find that the world doesn't need him. So begins another tale spun in the shadow of destiny.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Gateway to the Future

The air was warm as the sun rose on the capital city of Nilfgaard. Summer was in full swing and the bustling city showed it. Hawkers were pitching up their stalls, blacksmiths were lighting their forges, cabbies watered their horses and crowds flooded the docks to witness a momentous day in history. People from across the empire, from the heartland and outlying provinces, came to bear witness. After all, today would mark a once in an era event. Today was to be the day Cirilla Fiona Ellen Riannon would be crowned Empress of the Nilfgaardian Empire.

Gossip spread through the crowd like a plague, growing stronger with each additional body. There were many who thought it improper that the Princess intended to hold her coronation in Novigrad rather than in the capital. Others were perplexed as to how she would manage this at all. It would take several months of travel by land or sea to reach Novigrad from Nilfgaard. If the heir-apparent intended to be crowned this day, then certainly there was no way she could reach it in time. Or could she? There were many rumors saying that Princess Cirilla was a sorceress, and that she was tutored by an elven sage. Many reasoned that she intended to use magic to teleport there, however that didn't align with the fact that she had prepared a small fleet and an imperial flagship to escort her to Novigrad.

The fleet in question floated casually on the bay. From the docks, soldiers could be seen barking orders and making preparations to set sail. It was a small fleet, consisting of only fifteen ships. After all, this was only meant to be an honor guard. However, their number did nothing to detract from the imposing figures that the ships cut. Each ship on the bay was a tall, sturdy, ornate, and exceptionally well-equipped Nilfgaardian Battleship, some of the best in the Imperial Navy in fact. Most noteworthy, however, was their rather unorthodox equipment. Instead of catapults or ballista, the ships were armed with a device that resembled a cross between a ballista and a slingshot. Just what these devices were intended to be used for, no one knew for sure. What was known was that it was Princess Cirilla's doing. In the past year, the princess had taken on a number of initiatives that no one outside the court's inner circle knew the purpose of. Most notable among them was the giant stone arch that overlooked the entrance to the bay.

The arch was a work of grand beauty. Spanning the entire breadth of the bay and nearly a hundred feet high. It was constructed from black marble imported from Etolia and carved with elven and alchemic runes that were inlaid with gold from Vicavoro. At the zenith of the arch was a platform with a smaller arch on top of it. If one looked closely enough at the platform, a cross-shaped structure at the very top could be discerned. It was overall a beautiful structure made more impressive by the fact that it had been done in the span of a year. The princess had put every mage in the empire to work on assisting the laborers with constructing it as quickly as possible. To what end no one knew for sure. The mages who assisted had installed a variety of spells into every block of the arch. What these spells were meant for the mages were forbidden to say. However, rumors had flown in from the north that a similar arch made from red sandstone was commissioned by the princess in Novigrad. There the project had been met with significantly more resistance as the people of Novigrad detested magic of any kind. Still despite whatever speculation people attempted to make, no one could know for sure what the arch was for. No one that is except for Princess Cirilla who at this time was pacing frantically within her cabin on her Imperial Flagship.

"Where is she? Where is she?" the ashen haired young woman murmured as she paced back and forth.

"Calm yourself Zirael," said an elf sitting at a table in the back of the cabin.

"Oh shut up Avallha'c," Ciri snapped, "you can't possibly expect me to be calm on a day like today. You know what's at stake."

"Yes I do," the elven sage answered nonchalantly as he filled his goblet with fine Beauclair Red. "And by my estimation, not much."

"Not much!? It's my bloody coronation!" Ciri answered angrily.

"You stopped the White Frost singlehandedly," Avallha'c said as he took a sip. "Compared to that, any trouble that comes your way from here onwards is meager."

Ciri sighed then took the seat opposite to the elf. The sage filled another goblet and passed it to her. She accepted it thankfully and began musing as she drank. "You know, I didn't really stop it. Not permanently at least. The best I could manage to do was stall its progress."

"That is still more than anyone in the countless millennia of fighting against the frost has ever achieved," the elven sage countered. "The seal you put on it will last a hundred years at least."

"I thought a century was little more than the blink of an eye for your kind," Ciri responded taking another sip.

"True," Avallha'c contended, "however, much can change in the blink of an eye."

"That was cryptic," Ciri said sarcastically.

"Well, I am a sage."

There was a knock on the door of the cabin, followed by the call of a deeply nasal accent. "Your grace, Phillipa Eilhart has arrived on deck," General Voorhis said through the door.

"Finally," Ciri said under her breath before answering the General, "I'll be right out!"

"As you will, your grace," Voorhis said before leaving.

Ciri turned to Avallha'c, "you think he bowed to the door before leaving?"

"Most likely," the elf answered, "that one clings tightly to protocol. I actually rather like that about him."

"That makes one of us. In any case, shall we?" Ciri asked as she got up.

"Let's," the elf answered as he followed her.

Ciri walked over to the door but before she could leave Avallha'c called to her, "Zirael, aren't you forgetting something?"

"Hmm? Oh right."

Ciri raised her hands above her head as they began to glow with green energy. She waved her hands over her body and her simple white woolen shirt and brown trousers began to melt away and were summarily replaced by a long flowing black gown with silver embroidery.

"I must admit, it's rather astonishing how refined your control of the power has become in such a short time," Avallha'c commented.

"You can thank the White Frost for that," Ciri said.

"How so?"

"Hmm, it's hard to explain, but ever since I faced the frost I've felt this overwhelming sense of humility."

"Humility?" the elf asked puzzled.

"Like I said it's hard to explain. But when I was out there in that never-ending blizzard, I let go of everything...fear, sadness, guilt, doubt, pride. All of that shattered in the face of that storm. Everything that was holding me back was gone, and it was just me and the Frost. No collateral damage to worry about, or innocents to get caught up in the middle. So I let loose. I hit the Frost with every last ounce of power I had. And, in the end, well it just wasn't enough," she said with a slight laugh.

"You certainly don't seem disappointed about the fact," Avallha'c noted.

"That's because for the first time in my life I was finally able to let go of the idea that I was special."

"That makes no sense," Avallha'c responded, "most people lament at the fact that they are not special and are doomed to live pointless lives."

"Those people don't know how good they have it. For most of my life my specialty has only ever brought me pain and suffering, as well as the weight of responsibility that I never asked for. Not to mention the fear I've always felt of someone getting hurt because I couldn't control my power. Facing the Frost made me realize how arrogant I had been, and it made me realize that as strong as I am, there are still forces in the universe more powerful than anyone could possibly comprehend."

"And because of this, you no longer fear yourself or your power?"

"More or less. Anyway, come, there is work to be done," Ciri opened the door and walked up to the ship's deck.

Up on the deck the crewmen actively went about their tasks. Tying knots, prepping the sails, stacking cargo boxes, and washing the deck. The men sang rude sea shanties in rhythm to their work but held their tongues as soon as they saw Ciri was on deck. "You don't have to clean your language on my account," Ciri called to them laughing. "This is a ship, not the court."

"I'd prefer if they did," came a snooty voice from up at the ship's helm.

"Ah, Phillipa, I've been waiting for you," Ciri said answering the snooty voice as she walked up to the helm.

When Ciri saw her, she noted the scarlet red dress she wore with white lace trimmings and high neck frock collar that covered her no doubt to hide the enchanted choker that was meant to keep her in line. She was wearing a new blindfold today, a ribbon of red satin with white lacework interweaved in to match the dress. Phillipa's eyes were gouged out long ago by the mad king Radovid. That wasn't to say she didn't deserve it though. Phillipa had built her career as a schemer with some hidden agenda or another and she had wronged a great number of people in her pursuit of her own ambitions. Ciri and Emhyr had made it a point to keep her on an extremely tight leash lest she start getting ideas again.

"Are the preparations in Novigrad ready?" Ciri asked.

Phillipa answered haughtily, "Yes, but I just want to say that I still think this entire endeavor is madness."

"We already achieved the proof of concept with the palace models," Avallha'c pointed out. "Furthermore I'll remind you that constructions such as this are commonplace in Tir'na'Lia."

"This is not the world of the Aen Elle," Phillipa countered. "The palace models were small, any mage worth their salt could operate them. Something of this scale would require thirty fully trained mages at least."

"Then I suppose it's fortunate that I'm worth a hundred," Ciri quipped laughingly.

Phillipa was not so amused, "You have only just started to learn to control your power. You've only been studying for three years now. At your current level most magic authorities would only consider you an adept. It'll take decades more training before you truly master it."

Ciri raised her hand to silence her, "Phillipa, your concerns are valid. They are. But as it stands, I really need this project to go through. This arch is part of the crucial first step in my plans for the Empire. Once it's up and running this will change the world. It'll revolutionize our economy, our military, and diplomatic relations."

"It's not that I don't understand what you're trying to achieve, but why the rush?" Phillipa asked.

"Because we only have the blink of an eye to be ready for what's coming," Ciri answered.

Phillipa gave Ciri a quizzical expression. It was always an odd experience watching Phillipa make faces without any eyes. She could still see just fine since the Lodge of Sorceresses had found a way to simulate eyesight for her through the use of powerful illusion magic. But still it was odd watching how her eyebrows arched above her blindfold responding to commands from muscles that weren't actually there.

"Anyway we've talked enough," Ciri said. "Let's get going."

"I do hope you have a moment for me before you set off," came a deep masculine voice.

As soon as they saw who the voice belonged to, every member of the crew dropped whatever they were doing and kneeled down on one knee. The crew's gesture of fealty told her immediately who had just boarded before she even saw the man whom the voice belonged to. His head of smooth slicked black hair with streaks of gray showed first as he walked up the stairs. Then his hard angular face with a jaw that looked like it could have been cut from stone. But most notable of all were his eyes. His brown eyes were so light they almost appeared golden. They were hard set, the eyes of a man who commanded respect. And his gaze made it clear that it was in your best interest to give it. This man was Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of Nilfgaard, and Ciri's father.

Avallha'c and Phillipa did not kneel as the crew did but they did give the emperor the formal bow that was customary in the Nilfgaardian court. The only one who made no such formality was Ciri who greeted him with a simple, "your majesty."

"Cirilla," the emperor answered in response.

The two stared each other down for a few minutes as if they were building a bridge made of ice between them. They looked more like a pair of rivals about to duel than father and daughter. "You two go on ahead," Ciri said, "I believe my father would like to have a few words with me."

Avallha'c and Phillipa gave a quick bow to denote their leaving. Then Phillipa raised her hands up, charging them with orange magical energy. When she brought her hands down, a portal opened. She and Avallha'c walked through without a word.

"Do you mind?" Emhyr asked as he pointed an index finger upwards and spun it in a circular motion.

Ciri raised her hand to her breast and charged it with green energy. She whispered a word, "silencieux". A thin bubble of transparent green energy spread out from her hand and grew until it enveloped the entire rear portion of the ship.

"No sound within this barrier can be heard from outside," she explained.

Emhyr observed the thin green bubble that surrounded them. Finally, he took a deep breath and leaned back on the balustrade of the ship.

"You look beautiful Cirilla," Emhyr said as he attempted to melt the ice between them.

"Thank you, Emhyr," Ciri said casually. Ciri only called Emhyr 'father' when others were around. She hadn't forgotten the fact that Emhyr was responsible for a great deal of hardship in her life, not least of all being the death of her mother and grandmother.

If the casualness with which Ciri addressed him bothered him at all he didn't show it. He looked towards the slingshot-like device to his left. "This weapon of yours, it's…rather unorthodox."

"The engineers came up with the firing mechanism, my idea was the ammo," Ciri responded.

"Ah yes, the ammo. Those bombs that the witchers taught you how to make. Now those will revolutionize naval warfare. I read the reports about what those bombs can do to a ship. I expect we'll find the Skelligers easier to deal with."

"I thought we already discussed this," Ciri said impatiently. "We're not going to war with Skellige."

"You might want to tell that to Hjalmar an Craite then," Emhyr responded sharply. "Even as we speak he leads his raiding parties on the shores of the Northern realms."

"I will," Ciri responded bitingly. "As Empress."

Emhyr lightly chuckled at her last bit.

Growing annoyed Ciri asked directly, "Why are you here, Emhyr? It can't be to muse on the slingshots."

"Your deductive abilities are excellent, Cirilla," Emhyr responded casually as he turned to face her. "Though your poise still requires improvement."

"I have poise enough with a sword in my hand."

"Was that a threat?"

"No, just a statement."

"A statement can mean many things. You should remember that if you intend to rule."

Ciri stared him down silently for a few moments as Emhyr paused his speech. She knew what the game was. Showing up unannounced to catch her off guard. Starting a conversation about something unimportant to set the frame. He was making a power move. He was here to reinforce what they had agreed on.

"I haven't forgotten the arrangement we agreed to if that's why you're here," Ciri said.

"It's not your memory I doubt, but your understanding."

"What's there to understand? I'll wear the crown and carry the title of Empress but you'll still be running things in the background. I'll, in turn, use the power that the appearance of being Empress gives me to pursue my own agenda."

Emhyr closed his eyes, took a deep breath and sighed. "If that's all you think there is to this arrangement then you truly are not ready to be Empress yet."

"What do you mean?" Ciri asked.

Emhyr didn't answer immediately. Instead he leaned back against the balustrade and looked wistfully to the east. "Have you heard of the Nihon Empire?"

"Never heard of it," Ciri answered.

"It lies to the far east of here. Even further then Zerikania."

"You thinking of expanding east now that the North is conquered?"

"Not at the moment no. However, about two years ago I met with a rather interesting fellow. A merchant from Zerikania who had travelled there. When he came back he brought with him a rather interesting tale. Apparently this land had just recently become unified after two centuries of civil war."

"Good…for them I suppose," Ciri said hesitantly. Emhyr had thrown her off completely now. She had no clue where he was going with this.

"Here is the interesting part. The man who had succeeded in unifying this land, Eyasu. That was the name the merchant gave me. He only held the reins of power for two years after unification."

"Let me guess, assassination?"

"No, he retired."

"Retired? After only two years?"

"I thought the same when the merchant told me this as well, but when he explained further I realized the genius of it."

"This I have to hear."

"Apparently he passed the title of ruler to his son and gave him some responsibility while still running his empire from the shadows. By doing so he secured his power on two fronts. He made himself a smaller target for coups and assassins, and he ensured that his heir would be a capable ruler in his own right by easing him into the role and not overwhelming him with all the power at once."

"And that's what you intend for me?"

"Precisely, I have achieved all that I wish to achieve in life. Nilfgaard is currently the strongest it has ever been. Aside from Kovir and Skellige the empire now rules this side of the world. Now my only concern is to ensure that the future is secure. To that end I'm giving the crown and some of the power that goes with it to you. Once you're ready I'll happily wash my hands of politics all together."

"And just what do you intend to do once the soap has dried?"

"Hmm, there is a castle in the south end of the heartland where a fair haired young women awaits me."

"My stand-in?"

Emhyr nodded.

"Hmm, you know I wasn't around for the fallout when you brokered the news to the court and public. How did they react when they found out the Cirilla you were married too was a fake?"

"Surprised, but it's not as if there was anything anyone could do. The throne of Nilfgaard and Cintra is yours by rights. The rest is yours by conquest. You'll have people constantly trying to put a dagger in your back, but no more than would be usual for someone in your position. Make it a point to have those people eliminated as soon as they crop up."

"Thanks, I think, I'll make a note of it."

"See to it that you do," the Emperor said as he turned to leave.

The two stood silently for a moment, neither certain of what to say next. The silence thickened between them until Emhyr broke it. "Tell me Ciri, just what kind of ruler do you want to be?"

Ciri met Emhyr's gaze for a moment as she thought his question over. She knew the answer. She had already asked herself that same question and spent several days thinking about it before coming to a conclusion. However, she had never voiced her plans aloud to anyone before. "Do you want the honest answer or the one I intend to give out publically?"

"Honest please, I'll hear whatever the public version is when it's released to the public."

This time it was Ciri's turn to take a deep breath. "I've travelled far and wide Emhyr. Do you know what it is I have consistently seen no matter which country I go to?"

"I can guess but I'd rather you tell me."

"Pain and suffering. No matter where I go, there are always people who are suffering. People who have been wronged or cheated because of their race or social status. I've seen children offered up as food for woodland crones because their parents couldn't afford to keep them. I've had friends who have been harassed and murdered because of their height or the shape of their ears. Yet despite that, they all continue to soldier on. They do the best they can despite the poor hand that fate has dealt them. I want to be a ruler who reshuffles the deck. I want to end the suffering and make sure everyone has a fair chance at the game of life. That's what I want people to think of when they think of my rule. A century from now I want the historians to say that the regime of Cirilla Fiona Ellen Riannon was a time marked by hope and prosperity. That is the kind of ruler I wish to be."

Emhyr stood silently for a moment as if deep in thought. Then he gave his reply, "I think it sounds naïve and childish. It's highly unlikely you'll ever stamp out all the suffering in the world."

Ciri looked at him with a touch of anger furrowing in her brow.

"Still, I think you should give it a try. At the very least you'll be able to do some good. And right now more than anything, that's what the world needs. Some good." With that Emhyr turned and left the green bubble. A plank was laid down so that the Emperor could cross ships.

Ciri watched him leave, "even walking across a wooden plank he looks like a panther." She disappeared in a flash of green.

When the flash subsided she was standing on the platform at the top of the arch. Phillipa and Avallha'c were waiting for her. Each of them had already taken a position within the runic array that spread throughout the platform in a circular pattern. In the center of the platform was a pedestal made of the same black stone as the rest of the arch. Atop the pedestal was an aquamarine orb made of infused crystal.

"Is Cynthia's team in position in Novigrad?" Ciri asked.

"They're on standby, waiting to receive the signal," Phillipa answered. "Are you sure it was wise to leave Cynthia in charge? Fringilla is more experienced by far."

"Fringilla already has the hardest job on that team," Ciri answered. "Cynthia just needs to receive the signal and make the connection. Fringilla will be in charge of directing the power she'll need all her concentration there."

"And what about that new boy you stuck with them? Nial?" Avallha'c asked.

"Nial is there mainly to provide support on his end. We only really need two people on the receiving end but having one more mage provides a little extra insurance. Besides, Nial worked on the palace models with me he has a full grasp on how this is supposed to work."

"But he's only an adept," Phillipa said.

"So am I, yet here we are. Now then, if you're done questioning my leadership decisions we need to get this show on the road." Ciri assumed her position within the circle. The three of them formed a triangular position around the orb in the center of the circle. "Alright you all know what to do. Phillipa you will send the signal to Cynthia and establish the link. I'll draw the power and Avallha'c will direct it."

Phillipa nodded then raised her hands which began to pulse with blue energy. She uttered the incantation. "Aeca`emn aine aep ban. Aine stra`ede aep tedd. Aine stra`ede aep ca`erme." The orb in the center was silent and stationary at first. Then suddenly it began to pulse and glow profusely.

"Looks like Cynthia got the signal," Ciri said. "I'll draw the power now. Brace yourselves this is going to be intense." Ciri took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I am the flash that cuts. Heir to the elder blood. I call upon the forces of time and space and command thee to forge the path beyond thine boundaries."

"Is she casting a spell using common speech?" Phillipa asked bemused.

"Ordinary rules don't apply to Zirael," Avallha'c answered.

Ciri opened her eyes which were now glowing green and brimming with power. With a voice like thunder she commanded, "Come to me now! HEN ICHAER!" A column of energy burst forth from where Ciri was standing. The sky darkened as the power stretched up into the clouds. The wind began to howl threatening to blow the sage and sorceresses off the platform. Then the runes that formed the circle beneath their feet began to glow.

"I believe that's my cue." The elven sage raised his left hand up and began drawing the ambient energy that Ciri was generating toward himself. With one hand in the air, he directed his other hand toward the orb. Moments into the process Avahalla'c began sweating profusely.

"You holding it together sage?" Phillipa asked, half-mocking half-genuine concern.

"Zirael's power threatens to tear me asunder. I must establish a funnel straight towards the conduit before it does so." As Avallha'c spoke the power gathering above his left hand spiraled out further, and the stream he directed towards the orb grew more erratic. It whipped and flailed about like the tail of a wounded slyzard. "I just need to unite the poles."

Avallha'c began to draw his hands together. His hands moved slowly and seemed to resist coming together, as if he were dragging two lodestones through a pool of tar. When Avallha'c finally managed to clasp his hands together a quick flash circled around his knuckles. He immediately let go. A funnel had now formed between Ciri and the orb. All of her energy went straight into it. As she fueled the orb, green energy began to spread throughout the workings of the arch. Within minutes the entire construct was alight with power.

The portal opened in the center of the arch, and the fleet blew its horns to greet the free city of Novigrad.

A/N: Goddamn, finally I got the first chapter up. If you actually read all the way to the end of this first chapter, congratulations. I promise they won't all be this long. I really need to set the scale and tone for what's at stake in this fic so that's why this chapter took as long as it did. On top of that I'm taking a longer process. I wrote this chapter by hand first on pen and paper. I've actually written the first three chapters down by hand. Doing things this way takes longer, however I'm able to better control the quality of my writing this way. This way I can't skip editing and redrafting since I have to go over my work and correct my initial mistakes. This is going to be the last fanfiction I ever write so I want it to be the best thing I've ever done. If you read all the way to the end, thank you, I hope you'll stick with me as I embark on this final journey into the world of fanfiction.


	2. A Romp in the Muck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find our hero in a place where we often find heroes. Scrounging around in the muck and filth.

The putrid stench of Novigrad's sewers filled Meril's nostrils, giving him nausea that threatened to kill him if the drowners didn't get to him first. When he graduated from Szolka Smoka he expected a life full of adventure. He expected to be hunting monsters, wooing damsels, and feasting with kings. Instead, he had spent his first six months on the path chasing drowners and nekkers around small, forgotten villages for shit pay and even shittier gratitude. His current foray into the sewers of Novigrad was but the latest in what was quickly becoming a long line of dirty jobs. When Otto told him that the majority of a Witcher's job was taking other people's shit he didn't mention that he would literally be taking it up to his ankles.

He hated the way his boots squelched as he waded through the muck and excrement. His friend Ryu had worked very hard on these boots along with the rest of his armor. Ryu, by his own admission, considered himself to be a better blade-smith than armorer, but even master craftsmen would agree that Meril's kit was an excellent piece. His armor was composed primarily of thick, red draconid leather with various metal fittings. At the torso, he wore a padded red leather jerkin that fit snuggly around his lean frame and complimented his rose-colored hair. His broad shoulders were capped by pauldrons made of glistening meteorite steel shaped to look like snarling dragons. Under the jerkin, he wore a shirt of light chainmail that was tightly woven from the same meteorite steel that his pauldrons were made from. His gloves were a cross between hunting gloves and gauntlets, made from black leather to contrast with the red on the main body, studded at the knuckles and backhand with steel spikes and finished with splints of steel at the forearms. His trousers were of the same red draconid leather as the chest piece, about a quarter of an inch thick with dragon faced knee braces plated in steel. Rounding all this out was a pair of exquisitely cobbled black hunting boots, fixed with steel splints at the shins, steel dragon heads at the toes, and now dredged in sewer sludge.

It could be worse he supposed. He was only hunting drowners that meant that he could get away with dodging and sidestepping, no need to roll around in the filth. If anything he could take a dose of tawny owl and Petri's philter and burn them away with a few shots of igni. It was easy coin, but that didn't make it pleasant.

The noxious fumes of the raw sewage had completely overtaken his sense of smell. What's more since his sense of smell was stronger and better trained then an average humans he was not liable to go nose blind anytime soon. At least he could rely on his other finely honed senses. Fortunately, the closed-off nature of sewer tunnels meant that sound bounced around and traveled far. By concentrating his hearing he could parse out the minutest vibrations of the molecules in the air. Several bends ahead he could he could hear a faint scratching accompanied by a sound that was a cross between a gargle and growl, drowners. If he followed that sound he would come upon them soon. The sewer tunnels themselves were pitch dark with the only light filtering down from the sewer grates. This didn't bother him in the least though since his mutated Witcher eyes gave him perfect vision in the dark. The only drawback being that everything he saw was through a sort of red film. Otto had told him that when other Witchers used their night vision they typically either saw things in full color, or in black and white when imbibing cat. However, due to the difference in the mutation process that he underwent, his eyes, instead of the cats-eye yellow that was the Witcher trademark, were a crimson red like the eyes of a tree viper. For some reason this made his vision see the world through a reddish tint in the dark. It was a minor drawback though, one that he had been accustomed too since his boyhood. As long as he didn't have to fight Redanians in the dark he would be fine.

The growling and scratching became stronger as Meril trekked deeper. He could make out the individual sounds now. There were at least three, no four up ahead. He drew the curved longsword at his back. It was a blade of a unique design not found in this part of the world. Long, thin, with a curved razor sharp edge ideal for slicing through thick monster skin. In the land of Nihon where the blade's design originated it would have been called a katana. Here that name meant nothing though. Here it was just a Witcher's silver sword, meant for the slaying of monsters.

The growling of drowners was at its pitch now. The smell of rotten blood managed to cut through the stench of sewage and reach his nose. "Smells like rotten flesh, they must be feeding. I wonder what poor mook managed to get himself killed down here," he thought to himself. He reached behind his back to grab his potions from his satchel. When he reached his gloved hand into the bag two quick green lights flashed in succession from within. When he pulled his hand out, he was clasping two potions by his fingers. One bottle was blue labeled 'PF' the other a light purple color labeled 'TO'.

"I love having a magic satchel," he said as he quickly downed the two potions. He still cringed at the vile taste but at least it distracted from the sewer sludge. Actually no, sewer sludge was preferable to the cloying acrid taste of Witcher potions. The potions for their part took effect immediately. He could feel the toxins burning through his body, no doubt his normally rosy cheeks looked pale as a ghost now, and his jubilant rose-colored hair probably looked thin and gray at the he could only guess at since he had no looking glass on hand to check. What he did know for certain was that his body's stamina had increased, and the small modicum of magic that he contained within his body was intensifying. When he was like this he could cast signs almost infinitely.

He was just about to round the bend of the tunnel. Ready to move on his quarry. He stopped briefly to examine his blade to which he had applied a thick coating of necrophage oil earlier. He peaked out from the bend to get a glimpse of his prey. There they were, creatures the size of men, but shriveled, naked and vaguely amphibious, like toads crossed with the corpses of men that had drowned. "I always wondered, are they called drowners because they look like men who have drowned, or because they cause men to drown?" he thought.

The three drowners were hunched against the right wall of the tunnel over something he couldn't see, a corpse most likely. "Good they're distracted. If I use dancing star I can end this right away. But then again getting the ingredients together to make another dancing star bomb is a real pain. I'll use samum to disorient them. Rush in, fire off an igni and cut them down while they're on fire."

One of the drowners poked its head up from whatever the others were gorging. Meril could see its toad-like nostrils flare up before it called to the others. "Damn it, it's caught my scent. Gotta move."

He reached into his satchel the insides of the bag flashed again and when he pulled his hand out he was palming a grey sphere wrapped in brown leather chords with a wick fuse at its cap. He lit the fuse with a quick casting of igni and tossed it at the drowner pack. Just before it went off he ducked behind the bend, shut his eyes, and covered his ears. A crashing boom resonated throughout his skull and light so sharp cut through the tunnels that it even managed to bleed through his shut eyelids. Through the explosion, the monsters let out a shriek so blood curdling it traveled past the sound of the bomb. That was his queue to move.

Silver bladed katana in hand he rushed out from his hiding spot and prepped the sign of igni. A wave of intense embers brushed over the aqueous beasts, lighting up the dark tunnel as it did so. They caught fire instantly and began to scream like witches at the stake. As their bodies writhed the flames cast distorted shadows that looked more like the silhouettes of elves dancing rather than monsters burning. He gripped the sword in both hands and brought it down on the first drowners head, splitting it like a melon.

Drowners had skin as tough as leather but for a razor sharp blade like his, that was easy to slice through. The real challenge was in pulling the sword out once he had split the head. Drowner skulls were like jelly, easy to pierce but hard to penetrate. He found that once he had cut down to the monster's brain stem his sword got caught. Flames from the creature's still burning body actually splattered off and landed on his gloves. "Shit!"

He let go of the sword to brush the flames off his gloves. The moment he did so one of the other drowners, still burning, lunged at him. He barely managed to step back in time to dodge its claws. While the flaming drowner lunged at him the other drowner rolled around in the sewer water to douse the flames. "So one of them is smart, and the other is crazy. Fuck! I shouldn't have let go of my sword. My gloves are fireproof, how the hell did I forget that!?"

The flames on the drowner lunging at him faded away, leaving a series of nasty puss coated burns all over the creature's corpulent body. Despite this, the creature showed no signs of slowing down. It lunged at him viciously forcing Meril to quick step back in order to evade. While he kept his eyes on the burned drowner coming at him the other one dashed straight at him. Without thinking he threw his left hand up in the sign of quen. A yellow bubble surrounded him, shielding him from the talons of the drowners. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought to hold the shield up against the drowner's onslaught. The bubble reverberated around him as the drowners scratched away. "No sword, and I'll need at least three seconds to catch my breath before I can cast another sign. In that time they'll close in on me. Dammit! They're just drowners this is not supposed to be that hard!"

While his left hand held up the sign, his right hand reached into his magic satchel. The inside of the leather bag lit up green and he pulled out a two-handed longsword in a red wooden scabbard. He held the scabbard between his legs and drew the sword out with his free hand. Not half second after he had drawn the sword had the drowners broken through his barrier. Barely managing to get his guard up in time he deflected one of the drowner's swipes with the flat of his sword. And barely managed to sidestep the strike of another. He stepped back again. He bought himself the crucial three seconds he needed to catch his breath. He inhaled the foul sewer air, then swiftly waved the fingers of his left hand into the sign of aard. A shockwave of force vibrated throughout the tunnel knocking the two drowners off their feet. Not giving them a chance to get back up Meril dashed over to their prone forms. He drove the point of his longsword into the heart of one of them. The blade sank in with a squish, killing the creature instantly. The other one started straggling to back on its feet, but Meril wouldn't let it. Taking another breath he weaved his fingers into the sign of igni, but instead of releasing the power as a wave of embers he focused and concentrated the power to a single point at his fingertips. He aimed his fingers at the rising drowner and released a stream of blazing sparks. It howled ferociously as it tried to escape his flames but Meril refused to let up. The creature stopped writhing after four or five seconds of burning. But Meril wasn't taking any chances. He kept the stream going for a full thirty seconds until his body's stamina finally gave out and the stream sputtered out like the last drips of a keg. The drowner was nothing more than a blackened corpse now.

After taking another breath he went over to retrieve his longswords scabbard. He took a moment to inspect his sword before sheathing it. This was his steel sword used for more mundane enemies, the blade was forged from high-quality meteorite steel, the crossguard was straight with twists at the ends, the grip was wrapped in red draconid leather like his armor, and the pommel was shaped into a dragons head. Everything was as it should have been and there didn't seem to be any dents in the blade at all. As a general rule silver was the best thing to use against monsters since virtually every monster had a weakness to it and most wouldn't be phased by steel. Of course, that didn't mean all monsters were immune to steel. Drowners, for example, could also be dealt with using steel as well as silver. However, steel lacked the burning effect that silver had when it made contact with monster skin. Still in a pinch like the one he was just in it worked fine. He sheathed the sword and slipped it back into the satchel. The bag sucked the sword in with a green flash and quick plop sound. He reached his hand into the satchel again, this time summoning a hunting knife.

The city guard was paying him ten crowns per head. Which of course meant that he actually had to bring their heads. This was the fourth time Meril had to go about collecting drowner heads, he still wasn't used it. As he set the blade of his hunting knife to the throat of the most burned drowner the familiar feeling of revulsion set in. That sinewy resistance that the drowner's neck flesh put up as the knife carved through made his stomach churn. And even through gloved hands, he could get a sense of the slimy amphibious skin that he had to hold still as he cut. It was rank, gruesome work. His least favorite part of being a Witcher by far.

He finished cutting the first drowners head off and pocketed it in his satchel. Then he went over to the body of the next one to repeat the task. Just as he began to squat over the next corpse his dragon head medallion vibrated. He backed away instantly. A long claw shot out from the dead drowners belly tearing it to shreds.

A head of sopping grey hair emerged from the sewer water followed by big bulbous yellow eyes and rows of razor-sharp teeth. The body that emerged following the head was a body with sinewy amphibious grey-green skin that blended in with the sewer water that it emerged from. The creature's figure was hunched over, it had a corpulent bloated stomach, grey, sagging breasts that hung from its hunched over chest like a pair of cowbells, and curved spikes protruding from its spine. Its arms were long, at least twice as long as its stunted legs, and its bony hands only had three fingers and a thumb. Each digit had a long sharp talon at its end.

The sight of her caused Meril to remember a poem he had come across in his studies at Szolka Smoka. "With sallow skin and withered hands, and eyes as dull as stone. She'll pull you down into the depths this wicked water crone." This was a water hag, commonly thought to be the female counterpart to drowners though there was no solid evidence confirming that the two were of the same species. What there was solid evidence of was that unlike drowners, water hags possessed real magic, such as the ability to disappear into any body of water shallow or deep. This meant that steel was useless, he needed his silver sword. He glanced behind him to where his katana was, standing erect in the skull of the drowner. He switched his gaze back to the water hag and began to back away slowly without taking eyes off her.

The water hag, on the other hand, showed no interest in waiting and went straight for him claws outstretched. His reflexes kicked in and he blasted her with a shot of aard. The tunnel reverberated as the telekinetic impact knocked her clean off her feet. As she fell she dissolved into the water. Knowing he didn't have a second to waste he made a beeline straight for his sword. But before he could get close enough the water hag emerged in his path and hurled a ball of mud right at his face. It hit him before he could react, blinding him in both eyes. He flinched for just the briefest of seconds and the next thing he felt was sharp claws straight down his leather jerkin. The claws scratched diagonally across his body from shoulder to breast and stopped short. He felt a tugging motion pull him forward and toss him into the raw sewage. The filthy water washed the mud from his face but also made his eyes burn. He heard the gurgling cry of the water hag and felt her right upon him. Instinctually, he reached into the magic within him and sloppily formed the sign of igni. The blast he released was little more than a light showering of embers but the cry that followed it told him it had the desired effect.

He wasted no time taking the breath he needed to ready another sign. Then in one swift motion he wiped his eyes using his gloved right hand, and thrust his left arm into his satchel. The satchel gave its deep green glow and when he pulled out his arm a strange device was wrapped around his left wrist. It was a gauntlet with a silver chain wrapped around it and a barbed point sticking out from a riser under the wrist like a crossbow bolt. With the muck cleared from his left eye he could see just clearly enough to make his target. The water hag had recovered from the ember blast and was scurrying over to slash him again. He thrust his left arm straight out, took the best aim that he could and weaved the sign of aard. The chainshot flew forward and made its home snuggly in the left of the hag's bulbous yellow eyes.

The eye popped like a squashed tomato as the hag shrieked. She tried to escape into the sewage by dissolving her body again but the chain in her eye kept her head from dissolving. The neckless head shook violently as it tried to break free of the chain. Meril countered by walking forward and giving the chain some slack. "What's the matter drowner bitch? Don't like silver?"

The hag responded with shrieks of pain. "Well in that case, you really won't like this." Meril stuck out the index finger of his left hand and quickly signed a three-jointed line reminiscent of a crudely drawn lightning bolt before abruptly clenching his hand into a fist. "This is a little trick that's all my own," he grinned. A crackle began to emanate from his fist as it began sparking up with electrical currents that cast a flickering light all about the dark sewer tunnels. "Pretty neat right?" he said mockingly to the hag that had given him so much trouble. "Fun fact, silver is an excellent conductor of electricity." He clasped the chain in his electrified hand and the current ran through it, sparking as it travelled through each link and straight into the water hag's brain.

The creature convulsed like a pigeon high on fisstech. Its body shifted in and out of visibility till finally it stopped moving altogether and its gross corpulent form lay as dead as the drowners before it. Meril kept the current up for another five seconds before his stamina ran out, he didn't want to take any chances. The smell of burned meat reached his nostrils, "beats the smell of raw sewage," he remarked. He walked over to the water hag's body. Pressed his boot down onto its forehead and yanked hard on the chain. It took a bit of force to pull it out but eventually he succeeded. He checked the barbed point at the end of the chain. It was covered in blood and bits of brain matter. He would have to dip it in lye later to clean it.

He wrapped the chainshot back up and locked its clasp. He looked down at the dead water hag. "I wonder if they'll give me a bonus. Probably not." He went over to where his katana was standing. It was still lodged in the drowner's head. He put both hands around the swords grip and pulled it out. "If you lose your sword in a fight, your first priority is to get it back," he mumbled repeating Otto's teachings. He wiped the blade off with his gloved hand then sheathed it in the scabbard on his back.

"Now, where did I drop that hunting knife?" He went to the corpse he was working on right before the hag attacked. There was a hole in its chest where the hag's claw ripped through trying to get him. The knife was still buried halfway through the drowner's neck where he left it. He finished cutting through and put the drowner's head in his satchel. He ran a finger along the edge of the blade. "It's getting blunt, I'm going to need to sharpen this later," he sighed. "I'll need to hunt down at least six more of these buggers today before I have enough to make it worth the trouble." He casually flipped the knife in the air and caught it by the blade between two fingers.

"Now then, assuming that there won't be any more surprises…" a puff of green smoke exploded in the middle of the tunnel. The smoke was followed by an unearthly howl and ethereal green glow. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Meril grumbled. From the smoke emerged a floating hooded figure with no legs. It had long bony arms one of which held a lantern the other held a rusty longsword.

"A wraith? Really? A wraith, here? How much violence has gone down in these sewers for them to actually be haunted?" He pocketed his hunting knife then pulled the silver sword from his back. "Hey can you communicate?" he asked the hooded specter. The creature merely howled in response and charged at him with its sword. Meril deftly parried the blow and countered with an upward slash, but just before his blade made contact the creature's body turned blurry and immaterial. Meril skittered away out of its range and continued trying to communicate with it. "Listen, I'm not being paid to deal with ghosts right now. We don't have to fight. Can you even hear me?" The wraith vanished in a ghoulish green flash.

"I guess not," Meril groaned as the wraith reappeared directly behind him. He span around and deflected its attack with the flat of his blade. Then with a quick step he pirouetted around the ghost and slashed it down its back. A streak of ectoplasm followed his blades path as it sang its way down. The ghost howled then disappeared again. "Dammit, it keeps slipping away. No worries I have something for that."

He waved his fingers and thrust his hand downwards. Then gripping the sword in two hands he waited for the wraith to reappear. It puffed into his blindside making a terrible spin stroke as it did so. "SHIT! I CAN'T DODGE THAT!" he screamed mentally. Instinctively he forced his fingers into the sign of quen forcing the shield up just in time to have it shattered. The explosion from the shield knocked him to the tunnel wall with a heavy thud. The impact scattered his vision and caused him to lose his grip on his sword. "World, spinning, gotta focus, focus!"

He managed to regain enough of his orientation to make out the purple glow that had trapped his enemy. "It worked! Gotta get up, gotta get up."

He stumbled back to his feet and fumbled about for his katana. He found it quickly enough and didn't waste another second. Both hands on the grip he mustered all his focus to his eyes and brought the world back to clarity. For a moment all he could see was his enemy in front of him trapped and vulnerable, writhing in agony as the sign of yrden kept it trap within its circle. "HAAAH!" he screamed as he charged.

The next thing he knew, the ghost was howling in pain. Its hood fell back to reveal a long sorrowful face and gaping hole where its mouth should have been. The ghostly body extinguished in flames of green leaving behind a pile of dust that was quickly washed away by the light current of the sewer. Meril collapsed on his rear end, exhausted, his breathing ragged. "I'm not getting paid enough for this."

He sat in the muck for a few minutes trying to catch his breath again. The foul air didn't bother him anymore. When he had enough strength to stand again he grabbed his sword and used it for leverage to help himself back up. "I think I'm gonna call it a day."

He sheathed his sword and pulled out his hunting knife again. He still had two more heads to collect. He went over to where the corpse of the water hag still lay and began to squat down when suddenly the whole tunnel lit up with green smoke and the howls of the dead.

Meril's eyes opened wide in shock as he suddenly found himself surrounded by wraiths. "I hate this city."


	3. The Lion Cub of Cintra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight's performance has been brought to you by the Rosemary & Thyme. The Rosemary & Thyme, we're working really hard to make you forget that we used to be a brothel.

The upbeat tune of his flute mixed with the thumping of the drum and whimsical jingle of the tambourine, added to the raucous atmosphere of the Rosemary and Thyme. Today was proving to be a very good day for Mello and his band. The cabaret was filled with patrons visiting Novigrad to witness Princess Cirilla's coronation. Since the Rosemary and Thyme had a solid reputation for being a den of art and culture, the band had the privilege of playing for an audience of well to do means. The crowd consisted of merchants, tradesman, and even a few nobles. Nearly all of them were generous with the tips, no doubt thanks to the excellent synergy they had as a band. Mello was fortunate to have linked up with Byorston and Sherry when he did. They're instruments were a perfect accompaniment to his flute. Byorston's hand drum gave a much needed base to the sharp sounds of his flute, and Sherry's tambourine filled the sound out with its intermittent jingles. This allowed for a well-rounded sound that truly allowed his flute to shine.

Byorston was a Skelligan skald, tall, thick, and heavy set, with a long bushy brown beard as was characteristic of his people. He wasn't much of a singer but his drum skills were excellent. His large hands produced a resounding sound that filled tavern halls nicely. Sherry was a Novigrad native from the Bits. She was a tiny thing, only reaching up to Mello's shoulders, but she was sprightly, and a virtuoso on the tambourine. Her features were soft and rounded with auburn hair that she kept short, giving her an almost elf-like appearance. Mello wouldn't have been surprised to find out that she had some elven blood in her.

The bouncers at the tavern's entrance kept their eyes on the crowd. A more mismatched pair you could not hope to find. One was a hulking bald brute who stood right up to the ceiling. The other was a burly dwarf with a short ginger beard, he seemed rather young by dwarf standards, but the club hanging off his left hip indicated that he would not tolerate rudeness in this establishment.

From behind the bar Master Chivay, one of the proprietors of the house, filled mugs of ale from the kegs. From where he was standing Mello could only make out the top of Chivay's Mohawk, the rest of his dwarf form was blocked by the bar. Periodically wooden mugs foaming at the brim slid onto the top of the bar, and the serving wenches picked them up right away without missing a beat. They had a certain grace with which they went about their duties. Dodging the pinches and gropes of the patrons, almost as if they were working to the rhythm of the music. Indeed, many of the servers were in fact dancers, and would perform on the stage at special events. Mello often had the good privilege of playing his flute as an accompaniment to those events, from whence he would then have the good privilege of being an accompaniment to the girls later in the evening.

Today, however, the girls were busy fielding the hall and tending to the patrons. That left providing entertainment on the shoulders of him and his band. Not that he was complaining, his music quickened with joy as he saw the coins pile up in the purse that they had left at the foot of the stage. It was quite a sum, even after splitting it with Byorston and Sherry there would be enough coin to last him for days. He might even have enough to treat himself at the bathhouses. Perhaps Sherry would be interested in joining him there.

Mello and his band continued to play for an hour until his lips were dry and lungs could no longer blow air. Byorstan's and Sherry's hands were also getting red. He eyed the coin. It was piled up as high as a horse's droppings. As he considered whether or not this would be an appropriate time to stop, a man wearing a royal purple bonnet with a white feather in it, stepped out from the back of the tavern. Mello noticed the bonnet before anything else. It was either the most famous or most infamous piece of head covering in the world depending on who you asked. Known from the high hallowed halls of Lords and Counts, to the lowest brothels and piss ridden taverns. This was the trademark of Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount DeLettenhoven, otherwise known as Dandelion. Famed poet, minstrel, and bard, as well as the main proprietor of the Rosemary and Thyme. Mello had grown up hearing recitals by other minstrels of Master Dandelions many acclaimed ballads, his personal favorite being "Winter". Still, he had yet to have the privilege of hearing Dandelion perform live. Judging by the lute that Dandelion was tuning in his arms, it seemed he would get that privilege today.

Dandelion motioned with his hand for them to step down. Not one to leave on a flat note, Mello quickened his pace and began to guide the music towards a crescendo. Byorston and Sherry caught on to what he was doing and followed suit. The crowd latched on adding their own energy to the music with cheers and claps. They brought the instrumentals to a high note, held the pitch for a solid a minute, and then cut. The crowd erupted in applause, many tossed coins at the stage. It took every ounce of his willpower not to immediately scramble for the coins like a peasant. He mused that the others must have felt the same as they took a bow together. When the applause died down, Mello grabbed the bag of coins at the foot of the stage whilst Sherry picked up the stray ones that were tossed from the crowd.

Their earnings collected they stepped off the stage and Master Dandelion stepped on, he was followed by a pregnant woman with golden hair and a lyre in her hands. The women was Master Dandelion's lover Priscilla, also known as the Calonetta. A few years ago she was one of the best trobairitz on the continent, touring from Tretegor to Pont Vanis. Until she ran afoul of some Eternal Fire fanatic who poured scalding fluid down her throat.

Mello had heard her sing once before her incident. Her ballad, "The Wolven Storm", moved him as well as everyone else in the audience to tears. Her voice since the incident, however, was a much lower pitch. Some liked it and even argued it was better, though he didn't quite agree. Her voice now while still pleasing, just didn't resound in his soul the way it did before.

Master Dandelion cleared his throat and made his announcement. His voice immediately took on the gravitas of a trained singer and showmen, "ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the good Princess soon to be Empress Cirilla Fiona Ellen Riannon, the Rosemary and Thyme welcomes you!"

"HERE HERE!" Master Zoltan shouted as he crashed a mug on the counter after taking a swig. Others followed suit to mirror his sentiment. Mello took special note of those who didn't.

"As many of you may or may not know, I have the good fortune to be personally acquainted with the Princess." People in the crowd whooped and hollered, yet somehow those who remained silent managed to stand out amongst them.

"Now I know there are many among you, who do not know the princess, neither personally nor by reputation as the bit of reputation she carries is known only to a select few. I understand that many of you feel apprehensive at this change in regime, not knowing what it means for the future of the Northern Realms. I know many of you still hold a deep resentment towards Nilfgaard, and with good reason. But friends, I implore you, do not let the darkness of the past shroud your eyes from the bright future that lies ahead of us with Princess Ciri on the throne. I realize however that this might be a bit much to ask for those of you who do not know her. As such, as her friend, and most ardent supporter I have taken it upon myself to compose a ballad telling of her life's trials and tribulations." Priscilla began strumming on the Lyre, Dandelion followed with his lute. "Ladies and Gentleman, I give you, the Lion Cub of Cintra!"

Her deep umber voice came to life as Priscilla sang.

"Snow falls shallowly on the little girl's tongue,  
Blending seamlessly with her ashen hair.  
Sweet lion cub only six years young,  
Fated to live a life full of despair."

Then Dandelion chimed in.

"Fields of black, carry a golden sun,  
Shining over rivers of red on stones of grey.  
Sweet lion cub only eleven years young,  
Finds herself changed from the hunter to the prey."

They let their instruments strum a bit letting their lyrics sink in before Priscilla continued.

"The wolf on the hunt finds her in the wild,  
Fate demands that he share with her his den.  
Sweet lion cub, so tender and mild,  
Taught to use her fangs to sunder and rend."

Continuing the pattern, Dandelion took the next verse.

"A lilac raven flits to the wolf and cubs den,  
She caws 'little cub you also have wings.'  
With all the love of fussy mother hen,  
The raven teaches her how to fly and to sing."

Priscilla and Dandelion began to sing in unison. Her umber low pitch voice formed a good base for Dandelion's mid-pitch.

"And so it happens, this wild wayward three,  
Bound by fate, become family.  
Yet so seldom is the world ever so kind,  
Sweet young lion cub once again you must leave your world behind."

"Fields of black, carry with them a golden sun,  
The wolf and raven take their cub and flee.  
Sweet lion cub only fifteen years done,  
Now is the time to play your destiny."

"Amidst a flurry of spells and daggers,  
The cub loses herself in an abyss of flame.  
Her claws blunted onward she staggers.  
Holding nothing more than her wits and her name."

"The sun bears down, unforgiving and cruel,  
The pit has nowhere to hide.  
Sweet little lion cub, no longer a fool,  
Uses the stars as her guide."

"Onward she marches, the heat as prickly as thorns,  
On the way makes a friend.  
A little horse with a horn,  
Bonded in flame, they ride to the desserts end.  
Young lioness, now your trials begin."

The music faded out, revealing just how quiet the room had become. Not a sound could be heard from anyone in the tavern. No cheers, no jeers, not even a breath. Then it happened, a single slow clap. Mello scanned the room for its origin, but could not find it until he looked down at his own hands. The one clapping was him. More astonishing still was the fact that he could suddenly hear the sounds of another strong slow clap right next to him. He turned to his left and saw that Byorston had put his thick heavy hands into an ovation as well. Following him was Master Chivay. Then another clap from one of the patrons. Then another, and another, until the room filled with thunderous applause. Suddenly the tavern burst to life, shaking the very rafters with whistles and applause. Mello found himself being lost in the magic of the moment. So lost in fact that he didn't notice when his coin purse suddenly lifted up off the counter and began to float away.


	4. Bevy Titsfelt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little moments in time, often ripple outwards towards big destinies, like coins dropped in a canal.

** Bevy Titsfelt **

The clattering of wagons, horse hooves and footsteps cascaded over the cobblestone bridge. Unbeknownst to all the bridges passerby's a certain individual of ill repute had tucked himself away in the bridge's shadow. Bevy Titsfelt was a common thief. One among the hundreds who lurked Novigrad's streets and taverns. Skulking around trying to make what scratch that he could from picking pockets and pilfering unattended money bags as he had just done at the Rosemary and Thyme. Like most professional thieves, Bevy saw nothing wrong with the way he earned his money. Could he have found a more legitimate means of earning coin? Perhaps. However, options in a world run by humans were limited for a Halfling. His short height and light build rendered him ineligible for most types of manual labor. He could try to ply a trade like many other members of his race, but he never had a knack for carpentry or painting. No, thieving was his only skill, and it was a skill that he excelled at. Besides, it wasn't as if he was doing any real harm. The musicians he had just robbed could easily make back the money he took after a few more performances, they likely would have just spent it on drinks and whoring anyway.

"It's far better off being put to use in my hands," he reasoned.

Yes, Bevy Titsfelt was indeed nothing more than a common thief. The one uncommon thing about him though was the tool that had allowed him to be successful at thieving for several years now. The tool in question was a ring, a simple silver ring that he wore on his left ring finger. It was two sizes too big for his small Halfling digits, and he would often have to keep that hand balled up into a fist to keep the ring from slipping off. When he had it on, as he did at that moment, he was completely invisible to the rest of the world.

However, there was a drawback, as their often tends to be with useful magical items. The ring could only make invisible that which it was in direct contact with. Meaning that when Bevy put the ring on his finger it made his body invisible but not the clothes he was wearing or any loot that he pilfered, unless the purses he stole were also touching the ring.

He set down the heavy purse he was carrying from the Rosemary and Thyme next to the sewer grate under the bridge. To an onlooker it would have been as if the purse had appeared out of thin air. Then he went over to a barrel that was also propped up against the grate. The barrel was the same height he was so he had to turn it over to reach inside. From within the barrel he pulled out his clothes. A pair of woolen trousers and a shabby woolen coat with some Halfling sized smallclothes and a wool lined cap. He slipped the ring off his finger rendering him visible and naked for the world to see. Fortunately, his position between the two abutments that upheld the bridge hid him from the sidelong glances of any passerby's.

He put the ring in the purse he snatched earlier then began to get dressed. Quickly pulling on his smallclothes, trousers, shirt, and cap. No shoes though, the soles of a Halfling's feet were tough as leather making shoes rather redundant. In fact the only times you would ever catch a Halfling wearing shoes was if they intended to show off some wealth or status. Bevy for his part had neither of these things and thus no need for shoes. What he did have was a fat purse of coins that he was merrily beginning to count as he sat down in front of the sewer grate. His legs hung over the edge of the canal as he made himself comfortable counting out his ill-gotten gains.

Coins clinked as he counted away, "thirty, forty, fifty, sixty crowns! Not bad. Hmm, looks like there's some florens in here. Getting those exchanged will be a pain, I can't take these to Vimmy he'll ask too many questions about where I got them. And the shadier money dealers won't think twice about gypping me on the bloody exchange fee." He finished counting them, all together it was sixty-seven crowns eighty-five coppers and even a gold ducat. Quite a haul. The Halfling thief smiled extremely pleased with himself. "Perhaps I should make a deposit at one of the temples, just to thank the gods for my good luck today," he laughed. He knew he would do no such thing.

He bounced the heavy purse gingerly in his hairy hands and began to whistle a merry tune as he moved to leave his hiding place under the bridge. Suddenly in his ears were split with a scream, "GET OUT OF THE WAY!" He heard a voice yell through the sewer grate. He turned his head to see a young boy with what appeared to be red hair running towards him. The boy threw something at the grate and before he had a second to duck a massive explosion rocked his senses and sent him flying into the canal.

When Bevy came back to his senses the first thing he noticed was the cold embrace of the canal water. The next thing he noticed was that he couldn't breathe. His survival instincts gripped him like a fever as he flapped his hairy arms and legs to the surface. His head broke through the foamy surface with a gasp, and when the water cleared from his eyes he saw that he had been swept away by the canals current. He struggled to get his bearings as his tiny Halfling body fought through the current to get to safety. As he swam he saw a boat passing through costing along the current. Not thinking twice he swam over to the boat and grabbed it at the front. Gripping tightly to the boats edge he tried to pull himself up but before he could he felt a boot hit him hard in the head.

"Bugger off nonhuman, this ain't no ride for your lot," the man in the boat said. Bevy couldn't get a good look at his face but his boots were brown and made of hard leather.

"Please sir, I'll drown!" Bevy begged.

"Then fucking drown!" the man shouted before cracking his paddle down on Bevy's head. An audible crack could be heard as Bevy lost his grip on the boat. He stopped struggling, and the current briskly carried him away leaving streaks of red in his wake.

A/N: Ok so I know this chapter is super short, especially considering the fact that it's been so long since my last update. The main function here was to do some setup work for how the rest of the plot is going to go. The next chapter will get back to the main cast of characters and will be significantly longer. I finally have a break off from school so now I can write in earnest. I had originally planned for this chapter to be much longer but for the plot that I had in mind I needed to switch to Meril's point of view and I didn't feel good switching POV characters mid-chapter. So I decided to just make Bevy's chapter short and give Meril a good long chapter in the next update.


	5. She's Beautiful

** She’s Beautiful **

      Meril brought his silver sword down in a flashing arc. The wraith released one last unearthly howl before dissipating in a flame of green leaving only dust in its wake. Meril kneeled down to examine the remnants. The specter had left behind handfuls of glowing dust.

“Specter dust, I can use this to make some more Petri’s Philter,” he said.

 Meril summoned a small sack from his satchel and a brush. Carefully he brushed the specter dust into the bag, taking care not to waste a single speck before tying the bag off and dropping it back in his satchel with the brush.

      He got up and peered back into the tunnel from which he had just escaped. There were more wraiths in the back, still howling like the damned souls they were. They made no motion to come forward. “Good, looks like for the most part they don’t like the sunlight.”

Meril would have liked to cut more of them down, specter dust was worth quite a bit to alchemists. Still, there were at least a dozen ghosts back there, and Meril had barely escaped with his life. He’d rather have not pushed his luck. Meril turned his back to the tunnel to observe where he had exited. He was standing in front of a canal under what appeared to be a bridge. He could hear the sounds of people overhead wondering what the source of the explosion they just heard was. He looked at the metal grate that he had just blown through. It was made of rusty corrugated iron, so it splintered fairly easily on contact with his grapeshot bomb.

      “Using a bomb might have been overkill. I could probably have blown this apart with a blast of aard.” He sighed, “There was someone here when I threw the bomb. A Halfling I think. Fuck, what if I killed him?

      Meril searched the area for any sign of the Halfling. “My grapeshot bomb only has a blast radius of about five feet but the shrapnel inside can fly as far as twenty. Halfling’s on average weigh about sixty pounds. It doesn’t take much to knock them over. He must have fallen into the canal.”

      Meril looked into the canal for any sign of the Halfling, but there was none to be found, just a stream of soiled canal water. He peered straight down at the water. Gazing into his muddled rippling reflection as he contemplated his next action. Just then his medallion twitched. Just a small twitch, if he had not been trained to be aware of its every motion he might have missed it, but instead, he reflexively thrust his hand into the water. He half-expected to encounter another water hag, but instead, his hands clasped around what felt like cloth. He grabbed a hold of it and pulled it up. What emerged from the water seemed rather mundane.

It was a coin purse. A simple coin purse. He examined it more closely. No matter how he turned it, it was just an ordinary leather drawstring pouch. No markings or sigils anywhere. Yet when he brought the purse close to his medallion the dragon’s head jerked again.

      “There must be a magical object inside. Probably not that strong since the medallion’s reaction is minimal.” He undid the strings holding the purse closed and looked inside. The bag was filled with coins.

“There are coins from various kingdoms in here, if this purse belongs to that Halfling, then he must be well traveled. Then again, this is Novigrad, traders and travelers from all over the world come here. And considering the fact that today is the coronation there are more visitors than ever. He’s probably a merchant of some kind. Oh, what’s this?”

As he picked through the purse Meril noticed a gold ring amongst the coins. He picked the ring up, his medallion reacted immediately to it. “A magic ring? Wonder what it does.”

He took off the glove on his left hand and slipped the ring onto his index finger. It slipped on fairly easily, fitting just a bit tightly. For a brief second the ring glowed faintly, the dragon’s head vibrated in response, and then as quickly as the glow came it faded.

“Hmm, there must be some sort of magic word or ceremony required to activate its power.”

Meril slipped the ring off and put it back in the purse. Then he quickly pocketed the purse in his satchel. “I’ll keep a hold of this for now.”

He observed the canal again. “The canal’s current flows south towards the Gate of the Hierarch. The current is moderately strong, at the very least strong enough to carry a Halfling away. It’s possible that my explosion knocked him out, he fell in, then the canal carried him away. If I follow the canal I should be able to catch up with him.”

Meril walked out from under the bridge and went south with the flow of the current. The wet marshy soil squelched under his boots as he walked. As he walked out from under the bridge he finally noticed the sizeable crowd that had gathered around it. He heard the voices of people yelling demanding to know what the explosion was. _“Looks like I caused a bit of a ruckus.”_

Meril ignored the crowds and kept walking. He had been walking for about ten minutes when he came upon a small boat that was paddling upstream. The boatswain at the helm was a thick heavyset man, with a brutish face and a garishly harsh scruffy brown beard. Meril noticed that the boat contained crates of fruit. When the boatswain saw Meril he called out to him. “Oi, boyo, what’s with the hair? Your ma fuck a rosebush or something,” he laughed.

Meril wanted to reach for his sword but controlled his urge. Instead, he asked in a constrained polite voice, “My good man, I’m looking for a Halfling. You wouldn’t by chance happened to have seen one floating down this river have you?”

The boatswain immediately went silent. Meril noticed the subtle way in which his eyebrows went up when he mentioned the Halfling. As quickly as the surprise came it passed replaced with a sour look. “Ah, who cares if some pointy-eared midget drowns? They’re not no good to anyone anyway.”

“So you have seen him?” Meril asked.

“Bugger off!” the boatswain spat as he continued to row upstream.

Meril followed the boatswain up the river. He raised his hand up and weaved his fingers in the sign of axii. “Tell me where the Halfling is,” he ordered.

The boatswain dropped his paddle into the canal and it quickly began flowing downstream. The boatswain stood there dazed and silent. _“He’s resisting, he must really not want to talk.”_

Meril made the sign again, this time he cast significantly more force into it. “Tell me where the Halfling is,” he said calmly.

“I saw ‘im,” the boatswain answered. “Little bugger tried to hitch a ride on me barge. I gave him the boot first but he wouldn’t let go, so I had to whack ‘im with me paddle.”

“You did what!?!” Meril shouted shocked.

“I whacked ‘im with me paddle,” the boatswain responded dazedly.

“Why?” Meril asked.

“Why not? Those nonhuman dregs are parasites. The less of them there are the better,” the boatswain replied with a bit more force. It was clear the effect of the sign was starting to wear off.

“Which way did he go?” Meril asked.

“Went floating downstream. No doubt stiff as a board by now. Good riddance,” the boatswain laughed.

Meril clenched his fists before raising it up and weaving the sign of aard. The force erupted from his hand rippling through the water and knocking the boatswain overboard along with his boat and all its contents. Meril immediately began running downstream. Within minutes he was just under the bridge that connected the Gate of the Hierarch to the outskirts of Novigrad. He went right under the bridge until he finally got to the point where the canal opened up to the river on the south side of the city. “Dammit! He could be anywhere by now. He probably drowned, fuck!”

Meril kicked the ground in frustration and walked up from the riverside into the shantytown just outside the Gate of the Hierarch. Meril heard that up until a few years ago this was a district for Novigrad’s poor and nonhuman population but when the Nilfgaardian’s decided to build part of the arch in this district the place flushed with gold. It still mostly had the look of a shantytown on the outskirts of the city with many poorly built hovels and huts littering the space. But towards the center, some proper inns, boarding, and shops could be seen. The construction workers and Nilfgaardian soldiers who guarded them obviously needed supplies and the merchants of Novigrad were all too happy to provide. At the rate things were going it seemed this shantytown would be in prime condition to be a proper district in a few years.

Meril turned his attention to the giant red arch that was responsible for this new prosperity. It was a ginormous structure, made of a red sandstone, and it spanned from the edge of the shantytown over to the other side of the river. The Nilfgaardian’s were extremely tight-lipped about why it was being built and the workers who put the stones in place and carved the runes into it did not know for what purpose they did so. Looking at it up close though Meril quickly realized the arches purpose.

_“Those runes indicate spacial bending and specific coordinates. This is a portal! Fuck, this is insanely big! Kenmis had portals set up all over the school, but they were door sized. This! This is insane! How are they planning to power something like this? Wait a minute, what's that?"_

Meril cupped his hands around his eyes to focus his vision. By narrowing the light that went into his eyes he could see twice the normal distance, in doing so he could spot the robed figures standing on the platform at the very top of the arch. Meril counted three bodies standing together in a circle around a big spire in the center of the platform.

_"Judging by their clothing they must be mages. Wait a minute. Is this how the princess plans to arrive? Nobility from both the South and North have been flocking to Novigrad and today is supposed to be the day of her coronation, but there has been no word of her ever having left Nilfgaard. Come to think about it. There were rumors circulating about mages appearing at the construction site late at night. They must have been working on the magical aspects of this thing. Still, it doesn’t make sense. I’ve heard that Princess Cirilla is a powerful sorceress. If she wanted to travel by portal she could just make one of her own. Why go to all the trouble of creating a structure like this?”_

The sky above the arch suddenly darkened, almost as if to answer the very question that burned in Meril’s mind.  Dark clouds began to swirl around the spire that stuck out at the very top of the arch. Suddenly, a single bolt of green lightning pierced the sky and struck the spire. The dragon at Meril’s neck began to thrash wildly as the arch lit up with magical energy. The runes glowed in a brilliant emerald hue and dead center of the arch where once there was empty space there was now a swirling green portal.

The wind kicked up, catching everyone in the vicinity off guard. A laundress hanging sheets on the clothesline suddenly lost her bearings and her sheets blew away. Others reflexively shielded their heads from the sudden gust. Everyone stopped and stared at the portal. For a moment all was silent except for the howling of the wind, and then…trumpets. The sounds of loud boisterous trumpets spilled forth from the portal. The sound alone indicated the power of the instruments. These were horns meant to announce the arrival of a ruler.

Then it came forward as if emerging from a dark tunnel. A Grand Imperial Flagship painted Nilfgaardian black with ornate gold working spreading across the ship’s hull. The prow of the ship emerged first, then its bow, then its mast was visible. Meril expected to see the golden sun emblazoned on the mainsail, instead, there was a bird. A blue bird with twin tails, a swallow.

As soon as the entire length of the ship emerged another ship followed behind it. This looked much plainer in comparison to the first, being primarily solid black with no deviation or embroidery, but it was clearly much sturdier. This one was a proper warship. As soon as the second ship was out an identical ship followed it.

“It’s her! It’s the princess!” Meril heard someone in the crowd say.

Meril’s attention immediately jerked back to the ship in front. Standing proudly at the prow of the helm was an ashen-haired woman in a long flowing black gown. The midday sun shined brilliantly on her pale skin and highlighted the scar under her left eye.

Somewhere Meril could hear the crowd start to boo and jeer. They hurled slur after slur at her. Cries of “witch” and “whore” abounded. But somehow, even though he was in the middle of it all, the crowd’s shouts felt distant and diffused. For a moment all he could do was stand transfixed and silent as the ships passed by. The princess at the prow scanned the crowd, taking in the reception, and then her gaze passed on to him and for a brief moment their eyes were locked and Meril could see deep into her bright emerald eyes. _“She’s beautiful.”_

And just as quickly as the moment came, it was broken by the first flinging of horse manure.

 

**A/N:** Happy New Year everyone. I had planned to make this chapter much longer but that last line seemed so good I just couldn’t help but want to stop here. Anyway, I’m really grateful for the support I’ve gotten at the early stages of this fanfic. I’ve got a lot of arcs planned out with a lot of really cool ideas and themes to explore and I’m looking forward to sharing with you. Please, leave your comments and reviews telling me what you think so far. I love to hear your opinions and engaging with other people in the fandom is one of the best parts of doing this.


	6. He's Breathing

** He’s Breathing **

Ciri saw the peasant winding up his arm before he even launched his projectile. Compared to arrows flying at blinding fast speeds his manure bomb flew toward her at a leisurely pace. With the wave of her hand the manure bomb disappeared in a flash of green. She scanned the crowd at the riverbank, appraising their stunned faces as she searched for the original assailant. She spotted him quickly, a man with a black beard in a woolen cap. She wasn’t particularly mad at the man, she expected as much of a welcome when setting sail for Novigrad. Still, she couldn’t let behavior like that go unpunished. She pointed her right index finger towards the man and weaved a circle in the air. A tiny green portal opened above the man’s head and the manure he threw earlier fell through the portal squishing itself onto the man’s woolen cap.

As soon as the squelching sound of the manure dropped, shock gripped nearby onlookers followed quickly by laughter. Ciri smiled, glad she was able to turn at least some of the crowd in her favor. The majority on the other hand was still shouting curses at her. She sighed as she let the jeers wash over her.

“That was some remarkable restraint you just showed Zirael,” Avallha’c said to her.

“Well I was expecting them to throw things when we got here, the empire isn’t exactly well regarded here,” Ciri said with a sigh.

“Which makes your choice to hold ze coronation here zat much stranger,” General Voorhis commented as he approached the elf and princess.

“General,” Ciri greeted.

“Your highness,” the General replied with a short bow extending his hand outwards in the traditional Nilfgaardian fashion. Cologne wafted heavily off his clothes. His face was freshly shaven and he wore a finely tailored black doublet. Clearly he was well prepared for today’s festivities.

“You know, you don’t have to bow every time you come up to speak to me,” she said.

“Nonzense, it iz imperial protocol that all members and officers of the court must bow to ze sovereign upon greeting,” he replied through his thick accent.

_“I swear this man has the most annoying voice I have ever heard,”_ Ciri thought privately.

“You should get used to it Zirael,” Avallha’c added, “after today everyone will be bowing and kowtowing everywhere you go.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” she sighed.

“If I may your highness, I would very much like to know ze reason why you chose Novigrad as the site of your coronation rather than the Golden Towers back in the capital, as iz traditional. Many may not consider your coronation to be official as a result. And considering the stir that was caused when the Emperor revealed to ze public that his wife was an impostor and that your Highness was in fact his daughter and thus heir to the throne, rocking the proverbial boat so to speak may be considerable ill advised.”

Ciri laughed, “So formal, yet so direct. I rather like that about you general.”

“Your Highness?” Voorhis looked confused.

Ciri placed a shoulder on his hand. “Don’t fear general. I’ve been planning this for a year now, I won’t be letting a handful of naysayers stand in the way of doing what I must.”

“But your highness…”

“Don’t, worry, about it. I can’t tell you the details just yet but suffice it to say that I have a little surprise in store for those who will say that my coronation isn’t official.”

“Still, why Novigrad? Yes, it iz a wealthy and strategically valuable city, and the benefits we will reap from building the portal here are obvious. But why be crowned here?”

“Symbolism General, symbolism. The construction of the arch will have numerous economic and military benefits but the majority of Novigrad’s residents are extremely distrustful if not outright prejudiced against magic. One of the goals of my reign is to integrate magic into all levels of society, in doing so we’ll be able to solve many of world’s ills. However, that can only be possible if there is general cultural acceptance of magic.”

“That iz…extremely ambitious,” Voorhis said hesitantly.

“You don’t think I can do it,” Ciri said teasingly.

“I think…it would be incredible difficult. But if I’m being honest, certainly not impossible. However, I must zay you are taking some rather big risks to pursue zis goal of yours.”

“I’m about to be crowned Empress of the largest Empire this world has ever known. I can afford to.”

“The church of the Eternal Fire will fight you every step of the way,” Voorhis answered.

“Isn’t that what I have you for general?” Ciri said coyly.

“I suppose it iz,” the General said with a laugh that Ciri joined in.

“I’ll take my leave then your highness,” the General said as he gave a bow to depart.

Ciri returned to her place looking at the crowd from the side of the ship. She noticed the crowd was still throwing rubbish at her, but the objects thrown splattered in midair before they reached the ship as if they had collided with an invisible wall.

“I took the liberty of setting up a simple barrier,” Avallha’c said.

“Do you think I could create something like this?” Ciri asked.

“Most certainly,” Avallha’c answered.

“Even with my limitation?” Ciri asked.

“Let me think,” Avallha’c pondered, “you can create a soundproof bubble correct?”

“Yeah, I do that by distorting the space around me so that sound can’t escape.”

“The more common method for doing that spell would be to condense the air, the same principle applies to barriers like this one.”

“I can’t do ordinary magic remember? It has to in some way be an extension of my chrono-spacial abilities.”

“It’s no matter we can just apply the same principle you use to create the silence bubble. Distort the space to create a barrier that won’t let objects pass.”

“But to do that would require greater distortions,” Ciri noted, “I might create a rift on accident.”

“Hmm, fair point, we’ll test in the lab later,” Avallha’c said.

Ciri nodded then resumed looking at the crowd.

“My they are really piling it on,” she noted as more refuse was pelted at the ship.

“Why not just let the troops return fire? They’ll disperse quickly then,” Avallha’c said.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Ciri snapped, “I made it very clear from the beginning, no blood, and no one dies today.”

“Right, right,” Avallha’c answered nonchalantly, “still it’s not exactly dignified for a ruler to be pelted by commoners like a harlot on a shame walk.”

“I don’t care!” she shouted before taking a deep breath.

“Listen, can you go set up these barriers on the other ships as well, last thing I need is for a soldier to get irritated and do something stupid.”

“As you wish,” Avallha’c waved his hands and opened a portal that he quickly stepped through.

After he left Ciri went back to looking at the crowd as the boat inched along the river. _“I wonder if I could get another glimpse of that pink haired boy. He was quite handsome.”_

She scanned the crowd, hoping that the boys pink mop would stand out again. He was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, she noticed a rippling on the riverbank. She looked closer to see someone was swimming in the river. She couldn’t see the persons face but there was a sword on his back. Then a shock of pinkish-red hair emerged from the water and Ciri immediately recognized him as the boy she was looking for. “What in the…? Is he trying to swim towards the ship?”

Her answer came when she saw that the boy was actually swimming around the ship towards the front. Not wasting a second she raced to the front of the ship to see where he was going. When she reached the prow she saw another body floating in the water. The diminutive size and shape of the body told her it was a Halfling and the boy was swimming towards it. _“Is he trying to pull that Halfling out of our way?”_

She shouted to the crew, “STOP THE BOAT! DROP ANCHOR!”

General Voorhis answered her, “but ze ships behind us will crash into us!”

“Dammit!” She looked at the boy again, he had reached the Halfling and was clearly struggling to pull him back to the river bank. The boy dragged the Halfling by his collar whilst trying to pull both of them to the river bank with only one hand free. _“Dammit! We’re going to run into them!”_

Before she realized what she was doing she jumped off the prow of the ship, diving head-first into the water. The first thing she felt was the blistering cold, followed by heaviness as her elaborate gown took on water. _“Dammit! I should have cast this thing off before diving in.”_

She powered through it, and swam towards the boy and the Halfling. “Give…me…hand!” she screamed out between gurgles.

The boy heard her and reached out with a gloved hand. Fighting through the current she just barely managed to lock fingers with him. Ciri pulled herself toward him and wrapped her arms around him and the Halfling tightly. The Imperial flagship rushed toward them, threatening to run them over. Just as it was about to collide with them Ciri closed her eyes and a bright green flash enveloped them.

The flash blinked out and they fell five feet onto an elaborately woven black rug. She knew this rug well, it was the rug at the foot of her bedchamber. She had successfully brought them back to the Imperial Palace in Nilfgaard.

“He’s not breathing,” the boy gasped. “Help me!”

Ciri helped the boy roll the Halfling onto his back. The boy reached into a satchel at his side, there was a quick flash from inside the bag and then he pulled a knife out. He took the knife to the Halfling’s collar and cut the shirt open exposing the tiny non-human’s hairy chest. The boy crossed his hands over the Halfling’s sternum and began to pump. One, two, three, the Halfling was unresponsive. Ciri examined the little ones head, he was already pale, and Ciri could make out head wound.

The boy opened the Halfling’s mouth pressed his own lips to them and blew air down his windpipe before continuing to pump the Halfling’s chest. The Halfling was still unresponsive.

“Stop,” Ciri said, “he’s gone.”

Panic gripped the boy’s face. She saw his red eyes widening in fear before narrowing like a cat about to pounce. _“He’s a Witcher.”_

“Not yet he’s not,” the boy said. He stuck out his right index finger and quickly weaved a zig-zag pattern in the air before closing his hand into a fist. His fist sparked with electricity. He then opened his fist and slammed his electrified hand down on the Halfling’s chest.

“Kwaoohh! Aff, afff, afff,” the Halfling gasped and coughed as water shout out of his mouth. His eyes were wide open and alert for just brief a second before closing again. The Halfling didn’t move and for a brief moment all was quite. Ciri waved her hand near the Halfling’s mouth and nostrils and felt a slight flow of air.

“He’s breathing,” she said.

 

 

**A/N:** I swear I constantly keep planning to write more but then as I go I keep finding really good stopping points and I’m like, this is too good to write past I need to stop here or I’ll miss a great chance to capitalize on drama. Anyway, thank you so much for the support you guys have been showing. I’m trying the best I can to make this my best fanfic ever and it really motivates me when you guys leave comments and reviews. If you can I’d like to hear more, tell me what you’re thinking and feeling as you read, that’s what really drives me.


	7. Because I Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief conversation between a princess and a Witcher.

** Because I Can **

“He’s breathing.”

The moment Meril heard her words he collapsed on his knees in relief. He panted heavily as the tension left his body. “That…I can’t tell you what a relief that is to me,” he said between breaths.

“He’s not out of danger yet. His head wound needs to be dressed,” Ciri said. She got up and opened the door of her bedchamber. Standing outside was a pair of guards in black armor carrying halberds. The shock on their face when Ciri emerged was plain to see. Clearly, they thought they had been guarding an empty room. “Fetch me a medic and a handmaiden, we have someone injured here.”

“Your Highness!?” one of the guards said surprised, “when did you? How did you?”

“No time for questions! We have someone bleeding out over here. Now go!” she ordered.

The guards saluted her and ran off to fill her orders. As they left Meril observed her go over to an ashen colored wardrobe that sat on the left side of the circular bedchamber next to a matching ashen colored dresser. _“Clearly, she has a favorite color.”_

Meril’s nose twitched. “ _What_ _’s that smell? It smells sweet and soothing in here, vanilla and lavender I think. Those are very expensive fragrances, you’d have to be of nobility to afford it. Shit, that’s right! She’s the princess! Fuck, what am I supposed to do here? No one at school told me anything about what to do in the presence of royalty!”_

After rummaging through the wardrobe a bit Ciri pulled out a long silken sheet, which she promptly tore into strips and brought back to the unconscious Halfling. “I have to dress his wound, help me prop his head up.”

Meril did as she asked. “Gentle now,” she continued, “I’m just going to wrap it enough to stop the bleeding, the medic will have to sterilize and sow it shut later.”

Meril watched as she took the strips of silk and wrapped it around the Halfling’s bloody head. Her fingers moved with practiced precision. She had clearly done this before. “You’re quite good at that, um, your highness.”

Ciri nodded, “I’ve seen more than my fair share of blood. I had to learn how to do this sort of thing as a necessity.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Ciri finished wrapping the Halfling’s wound. “What’s your name Witcher?” she asked.

“Meril…your highness.”

“Meril off?”

“Um, the Dragon Mountains I guess. I don’t really have a home country or anything like that.”

“Not uncommon for people in your trade. You say you’re from the Dragon Mountains?”

“It’s where my school was…is sorry.”

“I’ve never heard of a Witcher school in the Dragon Mountains.” Ciri leaned in and appraised the medallion hanging on Meril’s chest. The silver pendant featured the head of a snarling dragon. “I’ve never heard of any Dragon School for that matter either.”

“It’s a new school, I’m its very first graduate,” Meril said as pride picked up in his voice.

The princess gave him a critical look as if she found something absurdly suspicious about what he had just said. “How long have you been on the path?”

“Not long, only about five to six months now.”

“And you started up north at the Dragon Mountains?”

Meril nodded, he saw no reason to lie about this, it wasn’t as if anyone besides he and Otto knew how to find the school.

“All the way from the Dragon Mountains to Novigrad. Slay anything interesting along the way?”

“Not really, mostly just the common pests, drowners, ghouls, nekkers, those sorts of things. Oh, I did have a run in with a bunch of wraiths earlier today though. Barely escaped with my life. That’s actually part of how I ended up at the river looking for this Halfling,” he said with a laugh.

“Which reminds me, who is he to you?” she asked.

“No one, don’t even know his name,” he answered.

“You’re telling me you dived into a river with oncoming boats to save a nonhuman you don’t even know?”

He paused for a minute not sure how to answer. “Well, when you put it that way I guess it does seem rather silly. If you want to know why I tried to save him, I guess you could say I felt guilty. It was my fault he ended up like this in the first place.”

“Care to explain?”

“Well, it’s like this. I was in the sewers hunting drowners for the city guard, then all of a sudden a huge swarm of wraiths poofs up out of nowhere. There are dozens of them, far more then I could handle. So I decided to make a break for it. Not very brave I know, but the Witcher’s code is pretty clear on these matters”

“Ah yes, that famous code,” she said with a slight laugh. “Then what happened?”

“I ran through the tunnels and the wraiths chased me. They were fucking relentless. I don’t know what kind of marmy whoresons they were when they were alive, but whatever killed them, it had to have been something they’re still sore about.”

“That’s strange.”

“What is?”

“The wraiths chasing you. Normally, specters haunt a fixed position that they can’t wander too far from. Usually, it will be wherever their remains happen to be lying. How many of them did you say there were?”

“At least a dozen.”

“And did you notice any bones or corpses lying on the ground?”

“Actually now that you mention it no. I was wading through raw sewage. So it’s possible there were lots of bones submerged that I didn’t see.”

“It doesn’t take much to anchor a spirit, even a hangnail can be enough if the spirit is determined.”

“You seem to be quite knowledgeable on these matters your highness.”

“I know a thing or two, still even if there was something there to anchor all those spirits they shouldn’t be able to materialize and be able to chase you freely. How far did they follow you?”

“Until I got out of the sewer, that’s actually where my story with this guy begins.” He said pointing to the Halfling.

Ciri nodded and waited for him to finish.

“Well, with a dozen specters on my tail, my first priority was to get out of there. I don’t know if you know anything about those sewers but it’s a complete labyrinth down there.”

“I’m familiar.”

“Anyway, I figured if I followed the flow of the water eventually I would find a way out.”

“Smart.”

“So I follow the current, while simultaneously fending off wraiths mind you, they pop up out of nowhere it’s really annoying.”

“Hahaha,” she laughed.

“Did I say something funny?”

“Sorry, it’s just you talk about fighting undead supernatural creatures so casually as if you were discussing the weather.”

“Well, I am a Witcher. Dealing with these creatures is my trade.”

“I know, I know. A Witcher that’s afraid of monsters would be like a cat that’s afraid of rats.”

“I actually know a cat that’s afraid of rats, or rather one rat in particular, but to be fair it was one very nasty rat. Anyway, I follow the current and eventually I find a tunnel where the sewer opens into the canals. However, there is big metal grate blocking my way out. I don’t have a lot of time to think because again, I have wraiths on my tail. So I do the first thing that comes to mind and reach for a bomb. Just as I throw the bomb I noticed on the other side of the grate was a Halfling, but by the time I yell out a warning I’ve already thrown it. The bomb explodes giving me an opening to escape and I’m out of the sewer. But the Halfling is nowhere to be seen. I figure that the blast had to have knocked him into the canal, so I followed it downstream to the river. And that’s where you found me trying to fish him out.”

“Why’d you go looking for him?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t have to seek this Halfling out, you could have just gone about your day.”

“I could have I guess. But…well…it wouldn’t have been right. I mean if he was injured that would have been my fault, I figured finding him and making sure he was okay was the least I could do.”

“Is that so? Hmm, interesting.”

“What is?”

“Most people in this world don’t give one whit about one another and that’s just between humans. When it comes to nonhumans, most people would say that it’s no different from killing monsters.”

“And how about you your highness? What do you say?”

“I say that most people are fucking stupid.”

It was Meril’s turn to laugh, “hahaha.”

“What?”

“In all the stories I’ve read about beautiful princesses, none of them are ever described as foul-mouthed ruffians who don’t flinch at the sight of blood.”

“You know, I could have your head for that comment,” she said flatly.

His grin evaporated and his eyes widened in sudden fear.

Seeing his change in expression brought a grin to her face. She got up from her position at the Halfling’s side and over to the wardrobe. She pulled some clothes and washcloths out and went behind a black silk screen.

“In any case, I’m hardly the first princess in history to be more action-oriented, and history is full of stories of mighty queens who fight bravely alongside their armies to protect their kingdoms. My grandmother was, in fact, one such queen.”

“Sorry, my knowledge of history is a bit lacking, who was she?”

“Ever heard of the Lioness of Cintra?”

“Sorry no, the history books back at my school related mostly to the conjunction era, don’t know that much about more recent events.”

“You should learn, knowledge of history can often mean the difference between life and death for someone in your line of work.”

Meril got up from where he was kneeling and realized that he was still soaking wet. He reached into his magic satchel, pulled out a washcloth and began drying himself off. “You seem to know quite a bit about my line of work your highness.”

“I’ve spent quite a bit of time around Witchers,” she answered, “I learned a few things.” She hung her soaked gown over the screen.

“Where are we?” Meril asked.

“My bedroom,” she answered.

“I figured out that much from the wardrobe. Where is here though?”

“In the Imperial Palace.”

“Imperial?….Wait, is this Nilfgaard!?” He shot over to a nearby window. The first thing he noticed was that he was at least thirty stories high up a tower with a cone-shaped roof. The next thing he noticed was the sprawling metropolis of black and gold laid out before him. Huge masses of people filed up and down roads like packs of ants through a tube. To the east side, he saw a massive harbor filled with boats and overlooking the entrance, a giant black arch with a glowing green portal big enough for a dragon to pass through. The shock of it rushed straight to his head as he lost his balance and fell backward.

“No fear of monsters, but terrified of heights, is that it?” he heard the princess say.

He looked up. She was standing directly above him. Her hair was wrapped in a white washcloth as was her body. Part of him was able to register how shapely she was through the cloth, but that part was rapidly overwritten by the adrenaline coursing through his brain as his fight or flight instincts kicked in. Reflexively he began reaching for the blade at his back but before his hand even gripped the hilt she grabbed his wrist and twisted it around.

“Calm down,” she ordered curtly, “you’re not in any danger.”

“Aghhh, let me go!”

“I will as soon as you stop struggling!”

He thrashed and rolled over to try to shake him off, but she rolled with him. As they began to struggle her washcloth flew off. His sudden exposure to her charms stunned him for only a split second, but it was a split second long enough for her to lock her arms around under his arms and around his head, followed by locking her legs around his legs completely restraining his movement.

“Your Highness we have brought the medic as you ordered one,” the guard from before said as he barged into the room before freezing. Confusion followed by anger lit up his face as he reached for his sword.

“HOLD YOUR BLADE SOLDIER!” Ciri screamed.

“But your highness!” the guard protested.

“WAIT OUTSIDE!”

“But!”

“OUT!”

The guard broke into a nervous sweat as he hastily let himself out. Meril finally calmed down enough to stop squirming and start noticing the soft feeling that was pressing down on his back. Even through his armor the soothing sensation of having her pressed against him seemed to seep through, he had never been this close to a woman before, it made him feel strange. He felt his trousers start to tighten when she finally asked, “Are you ready to calm down?”

He nodded to indicate yes. “I’m going to take your sword. Understand? Do not resist.”

“Why do you have to take my…agh!”

“I said don’t resist.”

She loosed her grip on his head with one hand and pulled his katana from out of its scabbard before letting her lock go completely and backing away. He got back up to his feet and stretched his limbs out. “Why’d you do that?” he asked.

“Why did you reach for your sword?” she answered.

He was silent, not sure of how to answer until she answered for him. “It’s because your survival instincts kicked in, just as mine did.”

He turned around to face her and was once again stunned by her beauty. Her slender frame showed gorgeous pale skin blemished only by occasional scars scattered throughout and a rose tattoo on her inner thigh. “Hey! No gawking!” she shouted.

He blushed, immediately closing his eyes and turning away. He heard her continue to speak as she stepped about the room, “you’re extremely lucky that I’m familiar with how Witchers behave and that I know you lack experience. Anyone else would have had you killed by now. But seriously getting worked up over a little teleportation, you have to learn to contain your surprise or you’re not going to survive very long on the path.”

He heard a clink of metal scraping against stone. He opened his eyes fearful that she may have been dragging it along the floor. He spotted his sword propped up against the wall next to the black silkscreen where the princess proceeded to robe. From behind the black silkscreen, her voice came forth, “That’s a beautiful sword you have, by the way, I’ve never seen one like it before. Where is it from?”

“My friend Ryu forged it back at my school, but the design of it hails from his homeland.”

“And where is that?”

“A place called Nihon far to the east past Zerrikania.”

She was quiet for a minute as if he had just said something thought provoking. “He must have traveled very far.”

“He did,” he answered simply.

“Where is your other sword? That blade is silver. Where is your steel?”

“I put it away, it’s hard for me to roll when I have two swords on my back.”

“Doesn’t that go against Witcher tradition? You’re supposed to have two swords on your back, one for humans, and one for monsters.”

“Don’t worry, I always have it when I need it.” He didn’t want to reveal the secret of his satchel. He was fully aware of just how priceless a treasure it was, the fewer who knew about it the better.

“How did you get us here?” he asked, “I thought teleportation required complex tools like megascopes and long spells. I don’t think I saw you cast while we were in the water.”

“It’s my ability, I control time and space, I can go wherever I want whenever I want.”

“Why bring us here then, why not just put us back on your ship?”

“This was easier. I can go wherever I want, but I have an easier time going to places I’m familiar with. Today was my first time on that boat, so I don’t have a particularly strong familiarity with it.”

“I see…hold on a minute if you can go wherever you want whenever you want, why build a giant elaborate portal?”

“Oh that’s not for me, that’s for the Empire.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think it’s fairly obvious. Having stable portals to key economic and strategic locations will boost trade and give us a superior military advantages.”

“So there’s more than just two!?” he asked incredulously.

“There will be, for now, there is only the portal between the Imperial capital and Novigrad. And as you saw today it works perfectly. Merchants will pay through the nose to use it and we’ll reap a profit so huge the project will pay for itself within a year or two. After that, we’ll have the funds needed to build portals in every major city on the continent. ”

“Wow, that is…that is…” Meril didn’t know how to respond. The sheer scale of the project she was describing would be unlike anything the world had ever seen before. Magic on so massive a scale could not be possible, could it? You would have to have been trapped in delusions of the highest grandeur to even conceive of such an idea. Either that or be royalty.

Ciri stepped out from behind the screen, now dressed in a plain white silk gown. “COME IN!” she hollered through the door.

The soldier from before walked in. His blade was sheathed but he still had a hand on the hilt. He looked at Meril crossways as he held the door open for an elderly gentleman in a black wax coated plague coat with a matching black medical bag walked in. The old medic’s attention immediately went to the unconscious Halfling on the floor. “The patient I presume?” he asked.

Ciri nodded, “he has a head wound.”

“How did it happen?” the medic asked as he kneeled down next to the Halfling and began to examine the situation.

“Some fucking racist thought it would be funny to hit him with a paddle,” Meril spat contemptuously.

He caught Ciri giving him a questioning glance. “I forgot to mention that part earlier,” he said to her.

The medic pulled out a pair of scissors and cut open the dressing that Ciri placed earlier. Blood immediately started gushing out, “oh my!’

He swiftly pulled a clean cloth out of his bag and immediately pressed down on the wound. “That is going to require stitches. I need someone to hold the cloth down while I prepare the equipment.”

Ciri took her place by the medic’s side without a single word. _“She’s kind,”_ Meril noted.

As Ciri applied pressure to the wound the medic began fiddling around with the contents of his bag. He pulled out a needle, a spool of thread, and some tweezers. He also pulled out a small glass bottle of clear liquid. When he popped open the cork Meril’s sensitive nose immediately recognized the strong alcoholic odor. “Is that vodka?” he asked.

“Twelve times distilled, extremely potent. Want a sip?” the medic asked with a grin.

“Not in the mood now thanks,” Meril answered.

“Just as well, it tastes like death,” the medic threaded his curved needle and dipped it into the vodka, “but it’s an incredibly powerful disinfectant.”

The medic finished prepping his tools then turned to the princess, “I must elevate his head, do you mind if we use one of your pillows your highness?”

“Not at all,” she pointed towards Meril. “Grab the biggest the one,” she ordered.

Meril did as he was bid, grabbing the biggest pillow at the head of the grand bed that took up the center of the room. The pillow he picked up was plush and luxurious. Even through gloved hands he could feel the richness of the material, the golden lacework interspersed throughout was clearly the work of a master seamstress, and the stuffing was firm yet malleable. “This looks really expensive, you sure you want to…?”

“It’s just a pillow,” she cut him off, “now bring it here.”

They propped the pillow under the Halfling’s head and the medic went to work. He poured some of the vodka on the wound, the clear alcohol mixed with the Halfling’s blood and ran off into the pillow. The medic dabbed the wound a few times with the cloth to dry it out and began the work of sewing the parted flesh back together. Meril kneeled down next to the princess and watched as the medic worked. The old man’s hands were gnarled and speckled with liver spots, but they moved with the deftness of a true virtuoso.

“What’s your reason?” Meril whispered.

“Beg pardon?” Ciri asked.

“I told you why I’m helping him, but why are you helping?”

“Because I can,” she answered simply.

A/N: Ok, so a few announcements. I’m back in school so my updates will be a little slower. I won’t let that stop me though. I’ve made a commitment to see this story through to the end, and I won’t let anything get in my way.

I’d like to give a special shout-out to me readers and reviewers on both AO3 and fanfiction you guys really motivated me to keep going.

 **WhiteWolfWhispers:** You’re one of my earliest readers and your continued support and patience means a lot to me.

 **Aragon365:** I wrote this chapter with you in mind specifically, hope you like it.

[ **XxxJerza4everxxX**](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4113573/) **:** I made the deadline just like I said.


	8. Impromptu Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Article four, section one, sub-section B of the Nilfgaardian Penal Code states that an authorized adjudicator may declare an impromptu court when swift justice is deemed necessary for reasons of state.

** Impromptu Court **

She looked at him confused for a moment before remembering, “You may take your leave doctor.”

The doctor raised himself up and left. She was adjusting to giving people orders, but the level authority she had over people was still something she was getting used to. _“More power, more responsibility,”_ she thought with a sigh.

She turned back to the Witcher boy. It was odd thinking of a Witcher like that. Not as a grizzled old man covered in scars like she was used to, but as a young boy still fresh in the face. _“Who in their right mind would make a Witcher in this day and age? Geralt and the handful of Witchers left in the world already have a tough enough time finding contracts.”_

She got a good look at him as he watched the servants carry away the Halfling on the gurney. His skin was light and his cheeks were rosy, a stark contrast to the pale complexion she was used to seeing on Geralt. His hair was pinkish red and vibrant. He had a strong jawline as well, though it still seemed a bit thin, probably due to his youth. She saw his lips curl up into a small smile revealing plump dimples on his cheeks. _“Definitely not like any other Witcher I know. I wonder if this is what Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel looked like when they first started out.”_

He turned to her, “what now?”

“I still have to get crowned today, so I’ll head to Temple Isle as soon as I have a new dress ready. How about you? Do you need to go back to Novigrad?”

“Yeah, I still need to collect my reward for the drowners I cleared out.”

“Fair enough, my friends own a tavern in Novigrad. I can drop you off there right now if you’d like.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

She put a hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes. The room lit up with a flash of green and when the flash faded the sounds of busy streets filled her ears. She opened her eyes and found she was in front of the Rosemary and Thyme just like she wanted.

“WITCHCRAFT! WITCHCRAFT!” she heard someone in the crowd yell before suddenly being muffled.

“Shut your hole, do you want to get killed? That’s the princess of Nilfgaard,” she heard another man say.

She looked around to try to find whoever it was that was talking but amidst the sea of surprised passers-by no one stood out. “It’s really that easy?” she heard Meril ask, “You just close your eyes and you’re there?”

“Pretty much,” Ciri answered. “I can go wherever I please, whenever I please. I can even travel between worlds if I want to.”

His eyes widened in shock. “You’re joking!”

She laughed, “if only I were. But it’s true, I spent a good part of my late teens and early twenties traveling between worlds. I’ve seen cities with buildings made of glass and steel that stretch up to the sky. I’ve run with unicorns to the edge of reality. Lived in underwater kingdoms. It was fantastic.” 

“You must be the most powerful mage in the world.”

“Well…in this world at the very least. Anyway, no sense talking out here where people can gawk. Let’s go in.” 

Raucous laughter and revelry leaked out from the tavern halls as Ciri opened the door. The moment she stepped through all fell silent. They stared at her, some with nervous looks, others with a tensed forehead, most with both. Murmurs spread through the tavern but she strode in without paying them any mind.

“Ciri!” she heard a man call exuberantly. A fellow wearing a purple bonnet and matching doublet appeared from the back of the tavern and immediately rushed to her. He wrapped his arms around her, picked her up and immediately spun her around. She laughed as he did so, then laughed even harder when he realized what he was doing and immediately put her down before backing away and bowing.

“My apologies your grace. The Rosemary and Thyme are honored to have you grace us with your presence,” he said formally.

“You can drop the ‘your grace’ Dandelion, I haven’t been crowned just yet,” she answered with a smile.

He lifted his head up and gave her a bright warm smile, like an uncle who hadn’t seen his favorite niece in a while. She noticed that all eyes in the room were on the two of them. “What’s everyone looking serious for?” she called out.

She looked at Dandelion, then she jumped on a table and addressed the room, “drinks all around! COURTESY OF THE CROWN!”

The tavern erupted into cheers as she hopped off the table and leaned in to whisper in Dandelion’s ear, “keep it cheap, the new entertainment budget is really slim this year.”

“Don’t worry, Zoltan knows how to work a room,” he responded as he pointed to Zoltan who was already handing out mugs of ale.

From across the room, Zoltan shouted, “it’s good ta see ya again lass! You should visit more often!”

“Who’s your friend?” Dandelion asked pointing to Meril still standing at the door.

“Oh that’s Meril,” she motioned for him to come over.

“Greetings, I’m Meril,” he introduced himself with his hand outstretched.

Dandelion ignored his hand and immediately inspected his medallion. “Your eyes and the sword on your back tell me you’re a Witcher. I don’t recognize this badge though.” 

He turned his attention to his eyes, “hmm come to think of it your eyes are quite different as well. Normally, a Witcher’s eyes are yellow like a cat's, and you even have some color in your cheeks. Very different from the Witchers I know.”

Meril looked at the bonneted man awkwardly before asking, “Do you know many Witchers?”

Dandelion looked at him surprised, “young man, do you not know who I am?”

“How can I? You didn’t introduce yourself.”

“How rude, a man of my fame requires no introduction,” he said before promptly introducing himself with a flamboyant bow, “I am the bard Dandelion. Viscount De Lettenhoven, master of the seven liberal arts, writer of a thousand poems and ballads, and chronicler and best friend of the legendary hero Geralt of Rivia.”

“Who?” Meril asked.

“Geralt of Rivia, the greatest Witcher of all time. You must be from deep in the country to not know his name.”

“The mountains actually,” Meril replied.

“Ah, I see, another one of those Witcher schools tucked deep in secret away from prying eyes no doubt.”

“Yeah, that’s more or less it.”

“Fascinating, you must tell me all about it later. But for now, enjoy the free drinks. Come Ciri, we have much to discuss.” Dandelion grabbed the princess by the arm and dragged her upstairs.

Ciri went along without much fuss, as they ascended the steps she asked, “How is Priscilla doing? Is her voice better?”

“Much better, she can sing again even better than before,” he answered with a smile.

“Really now?”

“Mhm, her voice is deeper and warmer, it has more gravitas. I like it, not everyone agrees of course, but what matters is that she’s able to sing.”

“Well that’s certainly good to hear,” Ciri replied.

“That’s not the only good thing,” he said as he came to a stop at one of the rooms on the second floor. He let himself in without even knocking. “Callonetta! Look who came to visit!”

“Ahh! Dandelion, I swear if you don’t learn to knock I’m leaving you!” Priscilla screamed as she rushed to cover herself.

“Never mind that, look who's here.”

“Hmm, Ciri!” the blonde songstress rushed over to the ashen-haired women and hugged her tightly.

Ciri immediately noticed the pressure coming from her abdomen. She looked down to see Priscilla's belly was plump and glowing. “Oh my, Priscilla you’re pregnant.”

“Really? I thought I was just getting fat,” she quipped.

Ciri looked at Dandelion, “is this your doing?”

“Guilty as charged,” he said with a naughty grin.

“Wow, you fessed up to it more easily than I thought. I remember a time when you would have run for the hills if you’d gotten someone pregnant,” she noted poignantly.

“Times change, and so do people,” he answered with a wry grin. “Speaking of changing times, today is the day is it not?”

“That it is,” she answered, “I came to pick you up. Are you ready?”

Priscilla went over to a nearby wardrobe and pulled out an elegantly embroidered sienna gown with long flowing sleeves trimmed with yellow ribbons. Further in there was an embroidered purple doublet, no doubt meant for Dandelion. “I had this commissioned the day we got your invitation. I wanted a doublet for Dandelion the same color as my dress, but he refuses to wear anything that clashes with his bonnet.”

“It’s my trademark, without it how will people know that I am the one true Master Dandelion and not some impostor?”

“Who would ever pretend to be you?” she said sarcastically.

“Ooh, touché Callonetta,” Ciri said with a grin as the ladies shared a laugh at Dandelion’s expense.

“Why…I never,” he huffed up.

Just then a loud crash resounded from downstairs. Dandelion immediately shot to attention. “A bar fight? Not in my house!” he declared proudly before marching down. Priscilla and Ciri followed him. When they got downstairs a crowd was jeering at the sight of a dogpile of bodies in the middle of the floor. Zoltan was standing on the outside of it.

“Zoltan! What’s going on here?” Dandelion yelled.

“No bloody clue, Mello just screamed thief, next thing I know he’s tossin about with that red-haired lad that walked in with Ciri, then Byorston piled on top of them and now the bouncers are trying to break it up.”

Suddenly a shockwave erupted from the center of the dogpile knocking all bodies off and pushing back the crowd. The force of the wave blew Dandelion’s purple bonnet off.

“That was aard,” Ciri declared as she wiped the dust from her eyes. She saw Meril was struggling to get back on his feet after having blown away his assailants. “Meril what the hell is going on?”

“This crazy minstrel attacked me out of nowhere!” Meril shouted back.

“Not out of nowhere!” a man with a thin beard and brown clothes shot back. “This mutant stole my money!”

“How the hell could I have stolen your money? I’ve never met you before!” Meril screamed.

“I don’t know, maybe you used some kind of sorcery like you did just now. All I know is I caught you trying to spend money out my pouch!”

“You mean this?” Meril raised up a brown coin purse made of sackcloth. “I found this in the canal.”

“How the hell did it end up in the canal? It was stolen just a little over three hours ago!” the minstrel yelled.

“Three hours ago, I was fighting ghosts in the sewers!”

“Ghosts in the sewers! You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth!”

“ENOUGH!” Ciri screamed as she flashed in between the two arguing men.

The room fell silent as she began to speak. “Now let’s all calm down for a moment and wrap our heads around what’s happened. What is your name minstrel?”

“Mello your grace,” the minstrel said as he got down on one knee.

“If I’m understanding correctly you think Meril here has stolen your money correct?” Ciri asked.

“Yes your grace, I recognize the purse that the Witcher was carrying. It’s the same purse I use daily to collect my earnings from my performances.”

“I can vouch for that your queenliness!” shouted a tall heavy set man with a long bushy beard. Ciri noticed he spoke with a Skelligan accent.

“And you are?” Ciri asked, somewhat annoyed at being called ‘queenliness.’

“Byorston, my lor…my lady. I play the drums with Mello here. I recognize that purse too. It contains all the coin we earned today.”

“Meril can I see this purse they keep talking about?” Ciri asked the red-haired Witcher.

Meril handed the bag over to her. “I found it in the canal from where I came out of the sewer. I figured it belonged to the Halfling.”

“When did you say you lost this?” Ciri asked the two minstrels.

“A little over three hours ago my lady,” Mello answered.

“And how did you lose it?”

“We’re not sure. We had just stepped off the stage after our act. I set it on the bar over there and ordered a drink. Then Master Dandelion came on and all eyes were on him. Next thing I know the coin purse is gone and no one saw a damn thing.”

“Did you report the theft to the guards?” she asked.

“Haven’t had the chance yet your highness,” Mello answered, “besides even if I did it’s not like they’d do anything about it. This is Novigrad.”

“Fair enough, can you tell me how much was in the bag when you lost it?” she asked.

“It was stolen before I had the chance to count it up your highness,” Mello answered, “but if I had to guess I’d say somewhere around two-hundred crowns.”

Ciri raised an eyebrow, “you must think quite highly of your skills if that’s your guess.”

“We put on a good show,” Mello answered.

“That we did, um your highness,” Byorston confirmed. Several members of the crowd murmured in agreement.

Ciri opened the bag and inspected its contents. “Well there is quite a bit in here, but it’s nowhere near two-hundred. Oh, what’s this? There’s a gold ducat in here.”

“That’s worth at least five-hundred crowns!” Mello shouted.

“Yes, but by your own admission there is no way you could have known that this was here.”

“Well…he admitted that it’s not his!” Mello yelled pointing at Meril.

“Calm yourself minstrel, or I’ll have you flogged for contempt of court.”

“This isn’t a bloody court!”

“Article four, section one, sub-section B of the Nilfgaardian Penal Code states that an authorized adjudicator may declare an impromptu court when swift justice is deemed necessary for reasons of state. Sub-section C further elaborates that reasons of state can be defined at the discretion of the head of state, which I currently am.”

“Head of state? But wait I thought you weren’t crowned yet?” Mello stared at her confused.

Ciri flicked her hand and in a flash of green, a scroll appeared in her hand. She unrolled it and held it high for all to see. “The Emperor officially signed executive and diplomatic powers to me yesterday. This makes me the de facto head of state. Meaning, I have the authority to pass judgment in cases like this. And here is the judgment I’m passing now.”

She returned the scroll to wherever she conjured it from and turned to Meril, “You said you found this right? It’s not yours?”

Meril nodded, “No, my thinking though is that it belongs to the Halfling we fished out of the river.”

“Do you have evidence of this?”

Meril nodded, “not really like I said I just found it, and put two and two together.”

“Ok, until we can confirm whether or not this purse belongs to the Halfling, I’ll keep a hold of it.” She bounced the purse in her hand and it disappeared in a green flash.

“But…my lady that’s a month’s worth of earnings for us,” Mello cried.

“Calm yourself, minstrel, I’m not leaving you to starve. Dandelion, how good are they performance wise?”

“Well they’re not anywhere near mine or Priscilla’s level, but they are excellent instrumentalists none the less. I wouldn’t let them play in my establishment if they weren’t.”

“In that case, I’ll give the two of you a chance to earn your coin back,” she said looking at Mello and Byorston.

“Three your highness,” Byorston said.

“Beg pardon?”

Byorston reached into the crowd and forcefully pulled out a short slender girl. “Our band consists of three, me, Mello, and Sherry here.”

“Very well the three of you. After my coronation today there will be a ball. Elites from all across the Empire will be in attendance. We’ve already booked an orchestra for the night, but they will need to be relieved periodically throughout the festivities. Think you can handle the gaps in between?”

Byorston began to answer slowly, “I don’t think we’re…”

Mello immediately cut him off, “if you would be so gracious as to accept humble minstrels such as ourselves your highness, we would be honored to play for you.”

“Good to hear, if you do well tonight there will be a ducat handed to each of you.”

“My lady you are far too kind,” Mello bowed.

“Enough bowing, let’s get this show on the road. I have a crown to wear and a throne to sit on. Priscilla, Dandelion get changed we leave immediately. The three of you will be coming with me as well.”

“What about me?” Meril asked.

“What about you Witcher?” Ciri asked.

“Am I done here?” he asked unsurely

“It would seem so,” she answered much more sure.

“So this is where we part ways then?”

Ciri nodded, “back to the path with you Witcher, and try to stay out of bar fights. Wouldn’t be a very eventful career if the first new monster hunter in a century met his end from a bottle to the back of the head.”

“I’m not too worried, I have a pretty thick skull,” he answered with a grin before bowing to her, “I’ll be taking my leave then your highness. I hope your reign is long and successful.”

And with that, the rose haired Witcher turned around and left. After which, Ciri, Dandelion, Priscilla, the three musicians, and Zoltan alighted up the stairs to prepare for the coronation.

“You sure Geralt and Yennifer won’t be there?” Dandelion asked.

“I invited them, but both Yen and Geralt agreed they had had enough of court intrigue and balls. They’ll be watching though, from a safe distance via megascope,” Ciri answered.

“Hmm, their loss,” he shrugged. “They still in Toussaint?”

“No, they were getting a little too famous there for comfort, so they decided to disappear into the wilds for a bit. Not even I know where they are now.”

“Good for them I say,” Zoltan piped up, “the gods know those two have seen enough hell to last a dozen lifetimes. They’ve earned some peace and quiet.”

“I’ll raise a glass to that,” Dandelion said, “Triss won’t be there either right?”

Ciri nodded again, “Nilfgaard and Kovir aren’t at war, but we’re not on friendly terms either. I hope to change that soon though. There is much we can learn from Kovir’s free-market policies. From what I can tell they’re a bit too extreme to be applied to the empire as a whole, but with a bit of modification they’ll go a long way towards improving the standard of living for everyone.”

“Look at that not even wearing the crown yet, and she’s already thinking like a ruler,” Zoltan said with a laugh.

“Did you think I’ve spent these past five years sipping tea in a rose garden?” Ciri asked.

“Oh, that reminds me we should have another picnic in the rose garden when the baby is born,” Priscilla chirped.

“You can count on it, now go get dressed,” Ciri lightly shoved the two into their room. They closed the door behind them leaving Ciri, Zoltan, and the minstrels in the hall.

They stood quietly for a minute before Ciri broke the silence, “you sure you don’t want to come Zoltan?”

Zoltan nodded, “someone has to stay and watch the shop, besides I hacked up too many Nilfgaardians at Brenna to be comfortable breaking bread with them.”

“I understand,” silence fell again before Ciri asked, “What are the odds of me running into that Witcher boy again?”

Zoltan chortled a throaty laugh, “knowing your luck lass, I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you end up in bed together.”

“What’s the supposed to mean?” Ciri demanded angrily.

“I’m just saying lass, you have a certain history when it comes to Witchers.”

“I was raised and trained by them. It doesn’t mean I’m attracted to them.”

“Right, and I suppose you were staring at his finely toned rump when he made his way out purely for _‘reasons of state,’_ ” the dwarf said cackling maniacally.

“Why…I…I’m not…I wasn’t…” the princess began to blush beet red. Just as she was about to hurl a flurry of insults at the laughing dwarf Dandelion and Priscilla exited their room.

“We’re ready,” Priscilla declared. Ciri stamped over to the couple and motioned to the minstrels to gather around here, they did so.

“Ah don’t take it so hard lass, he was quite handsome as far as Witchers go,” Zoltan teased between laughs.

“FUCK YOU ZOLTAN!” And with that, the party flashed out of existence.

**A/N:** Thank you all kindly for your patience. I know it’s been awhile since the last update. I’ve been busy with school, but I’m still trying to my best to get these chapters out with regularity. With chapter 8 we are officially 2 chapters away from the end of the coronation arc. Once we’re past chapter 10 things will really start to pick up so buckle in. And as always please leave a comment or review, that’s what keeps me going.


	9. The Empress of Nilfgaard

** The Empress of Nilfgaard **

The raging blizzard outside the monastery’s walls howled with the fury of a thousand wailing orphans. So fiercely did the winds blow that the mere rattling of the monastery’s windows was enough to send a chill down Meril’s spine. The chill quickly evaporated however when he settled into the wooden tub and let the warm water wash over him. The aches and pains from his daily chores and training evaporated with the steam. He grabbed a bar of soap and began scrubbing himself down. The noxious smell of lye from the soap gave him a headache but the clean feeling the soap left behind was heavenly.

Just as he started to relax a force shook the doors of the bathing chamber, blasting them wide open. A tall burly muscular man with a mane of thick black hair and a bushy beard that stretched down to his chest barged in. The man pulled a hunting knife from his belt and tossed it straight at Meril’s head.

Meril’s reflexes triggered instantly. He slapped his two soapy hands together, stopping the blade only a mere inch from his face.

“Good catch m’boy,” the burly man said.

“WHAT THE HELL OTTO?! I’M TRYING TO BATHE HERE!” Meril screamed.

“And now you’re trying to survive,” Otto said as he approached the tub.

“Survive? Survive what?” Meril demanded.

“The blizzard, of course, its perfect weather for survival training.”

“You have to be kidding me! It’s freezing outside!” Meril shouted in protest.

“Actually,” Otto began as he knelt beside the tub then began lifting. “It’s well below freezing. Your blood could turn to ice in this weather.”

“Hey, hey, what are you doing? Otto!…woah…hang on let me get out first.”

“No need, I got it,” Otto said as he hoisted the fully loaded bathtub over his head with Meril still in it. Water spilled all over the bathing chamber as the tub shook. Tub overhead he began trudging to the nearby balcony.

“No, no, no, no! Come on Otto be reasonable,” Meril cried.

“The world is not a reasonable place son, as your teacher it is my duty to teach you this.”

“Kenmis is going to be pissed!”

“Kenmis isn’t here to swaddle you now boy. And he probably won’t be back till spring, by which point either you will be dead and I’ll be long gone from here, or you will have survived and be much stronger than when he left you.”

“Oh, come on can’t we talk about this?” Meril pleaded.

“The only times when a witcher needs to talk is when he’s negotiating his contract.” He kicked the doors of the balcony wide open exposing the monastery's warm interior to the unforgiving winter wind.

“The rest of the time the Witcher need do only one thing, act!” With a heft, he tossed the tub over the balcony bathwater and all.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU FOR THIS OTTOOOOOO!” Meril screams echoed into the wind as his naked body fell into the sea of snow below.

“Master Witcher,” came a distant distorted voice. “Master Witcherrr.”

“Wah? What happened?” Meril yelped as his eyes fluttered open. He looked up to see the bald figure of the eunuch Happen standing over him with his usual judgemental look in his eyes.

“Sorry, I must have dozed off,” Meril said as he yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“That’s fine, a warm bath does tend to have that effect on people, I just came over to let you know your time is up unless you’d like to pay for another hour.”

“No that’s fine I think I’m clean enough now,” Meril said as he lifted himself up from the water.

“What were you dreaming about?” the eunuch asked.

“Pardon?”

“You had a bit of a pained expression on your face, it was quite delightful, I’m curious to know what caused it,” Happen said nonchalantly.

“I was dreaming…about a bath I once had,” Meril answered hesitantly.

“It must have been quite a bath,” the eunuch noted.

“That’s one way to put it,” Meril said with a nervous grin.

The eunuch merely nodded, “you’ll find your armor and weapons safely stored in the changing room where you left them along with fresh towels. We had them washed, though we couldn’t do anything about the tear in the jerkin.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Meril said.

“No, but the stench of raw sewage wafting off it was making nauseous.”

“I’ll pay you for it later,” Meril said with a sigh.

“Consider it added to your tab for your next visit.”

“Thanks, by the way, do you happen to know where the coronation is being held?” Meril asked.

“The Great Temple, but it’s closed to the public I’m afraid. Invitation only.”

“That’s a shame I was hoping to go see it.”

“I heard you had a run-in with the Princess earlier today,” Happen said poignantly.

“What in the…? That was only a few hours ago how do you already know about that!?” Meril yelped in surprise.

“Word travels fast in this city, you need to keep your ears open if you wish to survive in it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind thanks,” he said as he began to leave.

On his way out Happen quickly shouted, “there are a number of towers surrounding the temple that have a good view of the Temple’s courtyard. Some of them have opened to the public for a fee, you should try those if you want to get a view of the festivities.”

“I’ll keep that in mind thanks.”

* * *

 

The soft cotton towels felt warm and inviting on his skin. “Mmm, this alone is worth the thirty crowns I paid to get in here.”

Once he was dry he fumbled through his neatly folded clothes for his ring, “I have to be more careful with this, I’d have been up to my neck in shit if this had gotten stolen while my clothes were being washed.”

The ring in question was a simple golden band with a small ruby in the center and tiny runes etched along the sides. The runes were fashioned similarly to the runes forming a branching pattern on his left hand from his wrist to his fingertips. He slipped the ring onto the middle finger of his left hand then reached into his satchel placed neatly next to his clothes. With a quick green flash, he pulled out a change of woolen undergarments that he quickly changed into. He then proceeded to reequip the rest of his gear, starting with the gambeson, then the chainmail, and the leather jerkin on top. The tears where the water hag had ripped into him earlier were still clearly visible and some of the chain links underneath were loose. When he first got this armor set he thought that the three layers of protection were excessive but there was no doubt it saved his life today. He sighed, “getting this repaired is going to be a huge pain in the ass. Where am I gonna find an armorer who knows how to work with dracanid leather?”

He ran his uncovered hands along the messy tear that the monster had made. It saddened him to see his armor in such a state, he had to work very hard to hunt the forktail whose skin was used in the construction of this jacket. It took days of trekking through the mountains and examining monster droppings just to find the creature’s nest. Killing it was an even bigger pain, he had spent nearly two dozen crossbow bolts before he finally managed to knock it out off the sky. And when he finally grounded it he had to spend at least another thirty minutes of slashing and sidestepping out of the path of its vicious jaws before it finally died. Dragging the beast’s carcass back to the school for processing was another pain in and of itself.

He sighed again, “all that effort, and the drowner bitch tore right through it.”

* * *

 

He finished putting on his gloves and his boots, strapped his steel sword to his back, and left the bathhouse. The sky was bleeding orange when he got outside, indicating that it was close to sunset. As he went up the still bustling streets he noticed a large stream of traffic was moving northward towards Temple Isle. “The island’s probably crowded as all hell. Still, it might be worth my effort to head up there. Afterall, how often does a new monarch get crowned?”

He merged into the foot traffic heading north and made his way towards Temple Isle. When he got to St. Gregory’s Bridge four halberd wielding soldiers in black armor guarded the pass. The guards shouted in a thick Nilfgaardian accent, “Zis passage is now closed to ze public for the duration of her Imperial Highness the Princess Cirrilla Fiona Ellen Riannon’s coronation. From zis point forward only zose with official invitations may pass.”

“That’s horseshit!” a man in the crowd shouted. “What it’s not enough some foreign wench is gonna crown herself our Queen in our sacred temple she’s kicking us out too!”

“Why are you even interested in attending sir,” one of the Nilfgaardian knights answered back. “It’s plain to see you’re not a fan of ze princess soon to be empress.”

“Why do I wanna go? I want to go give that white-haired witch a piece of my mind. This is the free city of Novigrad! We recognize no kings here!”

“But you will recognize an Empress no?” the soldier quipped causing his compatriots to chuckle.

“Bah, you Nilfs think your so special, with your smelly cheeses and your high horse manner of speaking. But the truth is your not worth shit. Your empire is not worth shit! And your _Empress_ can go stuff a rat up her cunny and die of plague!”

The soldier’s stance shifted at that last remark. Meril could see the soldier’s eyebrow’s crossing sternly as he spoke. “Careful Nordling. You’re well within your rights to be angry about losing ze war, but I’ll not tolerate such crude insults to her Highness.”

_“Yep, this is gonna turn out well,”_ Meril thought.

“Ahh, I’m sorry, did I insult your lady love sir knight?” the man said mockingly.

“Nordling, this is your last warning remove yourself before we do,” the soldier responded growing angrier.

_“I shouldn’t get involved,”_ Meril thought.

“Tell me,” the rude man went on, “how does her cunt feel when you…ahh!”

“Shit!” Meril cursed as he drew his sword.

The soldier had just whacked the rude man in the side with the shaft end of his halberd and he was already preparing to hoist it overhead for a finisher. Just as the soldier was about to bring the weapon down Meril got in between them and knocked the halberd aside with the flat of his blade.

“WAIT!” he cried.

“Stand azide boy!” the soldier commanded.

“There’s no need for bloodshed here, look this is supposed to be a joyous occasion. Can’t we talk this out?” Meril pleaded.

“You’re wasting your breath lad,” the rude man said from behind him, “These savages don’t want to hear words, they want to rob and pillage. They’re nothing but a bunch of brutes and thieves with snooty accents.”

Meril turned around and faced the rude man who was clutching his side from the earlier blow as he struggled to get on his feet. Meril raised his left hand up and waved his fingers, “you know what man? Why don’t you just go home? There’s nothing for you here”

The man stared at Meril with a dazed look on his face. “Yeah, home seems like a good idea.”

And with that, the man turned around and left. “How did you do zat?” the soldier demanded.

“Magic,” Meril answered simply.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe spells are still illegal in this city,” the soldier said.

Meril turned around and made eye contact with the soldier. “You’re gonna tell me that when your princess sailed in today using a gigantic portal?”

“Ze reason why ve had it built outside ze city walls vas specifically so zat it still complied with ze city’s laws,” came another thick Nilfgaardian voice.

The soldiers at the bridge straightened up and saluted whoever the voice was coming from. Meril turned around to see a tall man with brown hair tied into a ponytail. He wore a thick black frock coat with gold embroidery and a medallion of the sun of Nilfgaard hung from his neck. Accompanying him was a beautiful brunette haired women in a light pink and green flowing gown.

“General Voorhis sir,” the soldier said keeping his salute up. “We were not expecting you.”

“I had to pick up my guest, you know ze Baroness La Valette I’m sure,” the General said as he introduced the lady.

“Of course, right this way sir.” All four of the guards stood aside to let the General pass through but before he did he paused in front of Meril.

The General sized Meril up with his eyes and stared at him for a solid minute before saying anything. “You’re zat boy whom ze princess fished out of ze river earlier today are you not?”

“Does everybody know about that already?” Meril said annoyed.

“I don’t know about everybody, but I was on ze ship that she jumped from to save you. You sent ze Imperial Guard into a frenzy vith zat stunt.”

“Sir!” the soldier interjected, “zis young man used magic to interrupt an act of justice.”

“Randomly assaulting a civilian hardly qualifies as justice soldier,” the General answered blankly.

As the soldier silenced himself in embarrassment Voorhis continued to examine Meril. “Hmm, judging by your eyes and that medal at your neck you’re a vatghern a Witcher are you not?”

“That I am,” Meril answered simply.

“Tell me, young man, why is it that Witchers constantly seem to be getting involved in matters that are none of their concern?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that General. I just know that in this case there was no need for anyone to die.”

“People die regardless of whether there is a need for it or not,” the General said simply.

“That may be so, but still, that doesn’t mean we should just turn a blind eye when something senseless happens.”

The General kept his face blank as if he were appraising the value of Meril’s word in his mind.

“Now now Morvran,” the Baroness at the General’s side interjected. “There is no need to test the boy, he clearly meant well,” she said as she wrapped herself around the General’s arm.

“What’s your name dear?” the lady asked.

“Meril, my lady.”

“Are you heading towards the coronation as well?” she asked.

“I was trying to, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to get through here,” Meril said motioning towards the guards.

“Let us bring him Morvran, you know Witchers have a way of making everything a bit more exciting.”

“In zose rags?” Morvran asked pointing at the tears in Meril’s jacket.

“I got these earlier today, haven’t had the chance to get them repaired yet,” Meril said.

“I’m curious what kind of beast could tear clean through dracanid leather and chainmail?”

“Lot’s of beasts actually, but in this case, it was a water hag.”

“A water hag hmm, tell me, would a rosy haired young witcher have made for a good supper for a water hag?”

“Are you kidding? Look at me I’m all skin and bones. I’m sure she would have much preferred a well-fed Nilfgaardian nobleman.”

“Heh,” the General chuckled as he turned to face the guards at the bridge. “This boy and the Baroness are my guests, let us pass.”

“SIR!” all four guards said in unison as they lined up to let the General pass.

As they crossed St. Gregory’s Bridge the Baroness chirped with all sorts of questions. “I’m curious to know, what in the devil ever possessed you to go diving in the river in the first place?” she asked.

“I’m curious as vell, I’ve not seen her Highness since the incident so I have not had ze time to discuss the matter with her as of yet.”

“By discuss he means lecture and berate,” the Baroness giggled.

“Well that’s a bit of a long story,” Meril answered, “the short of it is there was someone in the river I was trying to fish out before your boat pushed him under.”

“And in ze process, you risked getting run over yourself, vat vere you thinking?”

“Honestly,” Meril answered nervously, “I wasn’t…thinking that is.”

“I see, you’re a man of action,” the Baroness chirped, “no need to think about whether or not you should. You just see what needs to be done and you do it.”

Meril smirked, "you know, it's funny."

"What is?" the Baroness asked.

"My teacher told me that the only time a witcher needs to talk is when he's negotiating his contract. The rest of the time he needs to act. I always thought he was full of horseshit."

"Mind your tongue boy, you're in the presence of nobility," the General chastised him sharply.

The Baroness however laughed. “You know something, you remind of another Witcher I met before,” the Baroness said.

“Who?” Meril asked.

“Geralt of Rivia, do you know him?”

“I’ve…heard the name before,” Meril answered nervously.

“Geralt not only saved my life but the life of my eldest son as well. I owe quite a bit to him. He didn’t even ask for a reward after.”

“Really? That’s a bit of a surprise, Witchers never work for free.”

“If you zink zat is surprising let me tell you this. His Majesty Emhyr var Emreis once tasked him with retrieving the Princess…”

“Ciri?” Meril interrupted.

“Ze very same, and when he found her the Emperor offered him five-thousand crowns as a reward.”

“Five-thousand! That’s enough to live on for a decade at least.”

“Ah, but here is ze surprising part. Geralt of Rivia actually turned the reward down.”

Meril’s eyes threatened to pop out of his skull, “What!?”

“I know, it shocked me too when I heard. The Emperor was so impressed by ze Witcher’s honorable nature zat he instead gifted him a stallion, a fine Nilfgaardian thoroughbred.” 

“Wow, now that, that is unbelievable. If it were me I’d have taken the coin. A horse is nice and all but with five-thousand crowns I’d be able to buy a whole stable.”

“It just goes to show, not everyone is motivated by personal gain,” the Baroness said with a small smile.

“Hang on a minute, you said he was tasked with retrieving Ciri? Retrieving her from where?”

“Wherever it was zat she was,” Voorhis answered.

“I don’t understand.”

“Up until a few years ago, ze princess had been missing for nearly twenty years.”

“Seriously? Where was she?” Meril asked.

“No one knows for sure, some say she worked as a sellsword, others that she was training to be a sorceress. Zere is one rumor in particular zat I believe is most likely to be true.”

“Which is?”

“Zat she was training to be a Witcher,” the General remarked.

“You can’t be serious!?” Meril said incredulously.

“Your skepticism is vell founded, but I’m confident zat zis is true, or at least it is ze story zat is closest to true.”

“How can you be so sure?” Meril asked.

“Ze way she fights.”

“What do you mean?”

“I sparred with her once. Ze way she moves and ze way she handles a blade…if I had to describe it would be called…e’legan’t et fe’roce.”

“Sorry I don’t speak Nilfgaardian.”

“Hmm, I believe ze words I’m searching for would be, elegantly ferocious. Every step she takes is graceful yet menacing, every strike she lands powerful yet so precise. She handles a sword like an artist handles a paintbrush.”

“Definitely, sounds like the way a Witcher fights. And come to think of it,” Meril said pinching his chin in thought, “she did seem to know an inordinate amount of information about people in my line of work.”

“Well wherever she’s been what matters is that she’s here now,” the Baroness said, “I’ve had tea with her before you know. She is every bit as intelligent and cunning as her father, in fact, I suspect she may even surpass him in terms of political acumen. And yet so sweet and thoughtful. She even sent me flowers on my birthday. I’m telling you the gods are finally smiling on us again, they must be else they would not have sent us such a fine sovereign.”

“Agreed, ve could not ask for a better Empress,” the General said.

“You really believe that?” Meril asked.

“Vith all my heart,” the General said firmly.

* * *

 

They entered the Temple of the Eternal Fire via a side entrance that was significantly less crowded than the main gate. They walked through a long stone hallway that was empty save for the guards that were posted at regular intervals along the corridor. Meril could hear the blaring of trumpets echoing through the hall.

“Ah, ze procession has begun, perfect timing, this means we won’t have to suffer through the chamberlains and the Hierarch’s speeches. You should consider yourself lucky vatgern, only the wealthiest and most powerful figures in Nilfgaard and the Northern Realms are being permitted to witness this event up close.”

“How many guests are there?” Meril asked.

“Roughly two-hundred here in the temple, and five-hundred back in the Imperial Palace.”

“The palace? You mean back in Nilfgaard? But I that doesn’t make sense, I thought the coronation was being held here.”

“It is, it’s also being held in Nilfgaard as vell.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’ll understand when the ceremony starts.”

The hallway opened up to a catwalk that gave Meril a good view of the courtyard below. Meril could see below him many people dressed in silk doublets and ornate dresses. Clearly people of wealth and nobility, he even spotted a few children among the audience. The audience sat on benches facing towards a pulpit where a man in long red robes was preaching in front of an enormous bowl holding what Meril assumed was the fabled Eternal Fire that supposedly kept the city protected. 

The man at the pulpit was bald at the top with thin blonde hair growing at the sides of his head, and he had a stern almost stone-like face that grew steadily more annoyed as the trumpets played louder.

“That man at the pulpit looks familiar to me, who is he?” Meril asked.

“His Holiness Cyrus Engkelkind Hammelfart, Hierarch of Novigrad. You no doubt recognize him from one of the many portraits you’ll find hanging in the city’s various establishments.”

“He’s not bald in any of the pictures I’ve seen,” Meril noted.

“His hair started falling fairly recently, from what I heard it started the day Nilfgaard took the city.”

“Are we sitting down there?” Meril asked.

“Oh no, the ground is for the nobodies. Our place is there.” The General pointed to a wooden box at the end of the catwalk that faced openly in the direction of the Hierarch’s pulpit and the flame.

“I suggest you mind yourself carefully vatgern, you will be seated right next to some of ze most powerful and influential people in ze Empire. You could get killed or imprisoned just for glancing at one of zem ze wrong way.”

“Anything you suggest I do?” Meril asked.

“Mind vat you say, in fact, don’t say anything at all if you can help it.”

“Noted.”

* * *

 

As soon as they entered the box Meril’s medallion rattled.

“Does this box have spells worked into it?” Meril asked.

“You noticed?” the General responded.

“My medallion’s shaking.”

“Useful little trinkets zose medals. Yes, spells have been worked into this box for the safety and comfort of the guests attending.”

The boxes interior was lavishly well done. Instead of benches like below, there were two rows of ornately carved and well-cushioned chairs. Servants with drinks and appetizers on silver platters stood in the corners. There were ten chairs altogether, but only eight of them were filled. Meril had never seen a more eclectic collection of people. Sitting front and center with a goblet of wine in one hand and a wedge of cheese in the other was a bald middle-aged man in patchy clothes and a green caped hood. Sitting next to the middle-aged man was young brown haired women in a black and grey gambeson. The sigil of the eternal fire on her breast and the sword at her waist marked her as a Witch Hunter.

_“I recognize her, that’s Tamara Strenger Lady Commander of the Witch Hunters,”_ Meril thought.

As he analyzed her, he noticed the disgusted side glance she gave to the bald man. “Really Bedlam?” she said, “must you make a pig of yourself, this is a solemn occasion.”

“That’s SIR Bedlam to you Witch Hunter,” the bald man responded, “and our soon to be empress was gracious enough to furnish these tasties, it’d be an insult not to partake.”

Meril heard women giggle in the back row. He turned his attention to the second row of chairs and noticed a group of gorgeous women sitting together in the back. He wasn’t why, but something about these women made the hairs on the back of Meril’s neck stand up. _“Sorceresses,”_ he thought.

To the far left of the back row was women with fiery red hair and freckles wearing a low cut green gown. Her cleavage seemed to be exceptionally pale, almost as if it was overcaked with powder. Sitting next to her was a brunette lady with a blindfold on. Next to her a petite woman with short black hair, her black dress gave the impression she was Nilfgaardian. Next to her was a blonde woman, also wearing a black and gold dress in the Nilfgaardian fashion. When his gaze turned to the next sorceress his heart nearly stopped. Her enchanting deep blue eyes immediately drew him in and her soft alluring elven features took his breath away. The elven sorceress gave him a cursory glance as he gawked at her before turning her attention back to the pulpit in the courtyard.

_“By the gods, she’s even more beautiful then Ciri.”_

“Ah, general, good to see you,” came a man’s voice, breaking Meril out of his stupor.

“Count Bernadotte,” Morvran responded warmly as he greeted a middle-aged Nilfgaardian man with a curly black mustache.

“Viscount Bernadotte now I’m afraid, I had to abdicate rule of Bacca’la when I accepted my new position in ze court.”

“Ah, but what is a city compared to ze honor of serving House Emreis,” the General answered.

“Agreed, tis a small price to pay in service to ze Empire, ah but who is zis? Why ze lovely Lady LaVallete, a pleasure as always,” the Viscount took Lady LaVallete’s hand and planted a gentle kiss to greet her, before turning his attention to Meril.

“And who is this?” the Viscount.

Meril answered, “Meril of…”

“He is an associate of ze princess,” the General cut him off.

“Is that so?” the Viscount noted, analyzing Meril with a critical eye before quickly turning away as if he had judged Meril to not be worth his time. “In any case, have all ze necessary preparations been made?” the Viscount asked.

“Indeed, ze spells should activate any minute now,” the General said.

_“Spells?”_ Meril thought.

“We’d best take our seats then, we wouldn’t want to miss this.”

Everyone took their seats as the playing of the trumpets grew louder and more sonorous. The Hierarch at his pulpit looked increasingly more annoyed, apparently, the trumpets were interrupting whatever his sermon was. Not that the audience on the ground seemed to care. From up top Meril could make out the bored expressions as they fidgeted on their pews.

_“Where is Ciri? And why is there no royal procession or anything like that?”_ Suddenly Meril’s medallion began to shake violently, accompanied by a sudden gust of wind.

“What’s going on?” Meril asked.

“Watch,” the General responded.

The wind blew more aggressively, causing the Eternal Fire to flare up and waiver in response. All the wind seemed to be collecting directly on the courtyard. Suddenly, a green portal on the left and right sides of the courtyard opened. From the left portal, a squire dressed in black livery carrying a golden sun shaped crown on a pillow of black velvet strode forth slowly and deliberately. From the right side, another squire in matching livery stepped forward carrying a golden scepter with the sun of Nilfgaard at its head. They both marched toward the Hierarch at the same slow steady pace, keeping in perfect rhythm with the trumpets.

One final gust of wind blew and a wave of green energy swept over the courtyard and pooled directly between the Hierarch and the Eternal Fire. A gigantic portal opened that spanned the entire length of the courtyard. But something was different, as soon as the magical pathway finished expanding the swirling pool of energy gave way to a view of a long black throne room with a red carpet laid directly in front of the Hierarch. Both sides of the throne room were lined top to bottom with Nilfgaardian courtiers in their finest silk gowns and doublets, and at the very end of the hall, where she was.

She sat regal and proud, on a throne that was three times her size, the smiling golden sun of Nilfgaard standing proudly at the top of the thrones backing. She was calm and composed, wearing a long gown of black and red silks that was embroidered with black and white pearls and a long black cape rested on her shoulders under

 The Hierarch paused in front of the portal, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The two squires stopped in front of the Hierarch, raising the crown and scepter respectively. Meril caught a glint of metal from under the velvet pillows. He focused his eyes on where the squires were standing and vaguely made out the outlines of daggers nestled in the squires palms before they lowered the pillows.

“Why are those squires carrying daggers?” Meril asked.

“You noticed zat did you? You witchers do have sharp senses,” the General said.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Meril said firmly.

“A little extra incentive, to make sure ze Hierarch behaves himself.”

“It’s a shame they aren’t already in his back,” one of the sorceresses in the back said. Lady Strenger whipped around to see who it was but no one betrayed the culprit.

Nervously, the Hierarch stepped through into the throne room. His foot passed through effortlessly without even so much as a ripple on the surface of the portal.

_“This has to be the single most well-crafted portal I have ever seen. He passed through it like he was just stepping into another hallway.”_

The Hierarch walked up the red carpet slowly and deliberately. Every step he took told you that he didn’t want to be there, and still he kept walking forward. Finally, when he approached the throne she looked down on him with a steely gaze before bidding him forward with just two fingers. Finally, he turned to his left and lifted the crown from its resting place on the velvet pillow and raised it high for all to see. A magically magnified voice rang out from the portal, “this coronet represents the…virtue and absolute authority of the ruler who bears it.”

Gingerly he placed the golden crown on her pearl braided ashen hair. He turned to his right and raised up the scepter, “this scepter represents the supreme unyielding might of the sun. May it shine forever on the lands of its sovereign.”

He held the scepter out to her with open hands and she daintily accepted. He stood aside and she rose from the sun throne raising the scepter on high.

“ALL HAIL CIRILLA FIONA ELLEN RIANNON! EMPRESS OF NILFGAARD!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey, sorry it took me so long to get this finished. I'd like to blame school or work or something, but the truth is this chapter was just really challenging to write and I can be really lazy sometimes. That ends here though. From this point on till the end of summer, I'm gonna aim to update on weekly basis. Please do comment, hearing what you guys have to say about my work is what really drives me to keep doing it.


	10. The Day of Dousing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey everyone, normally I leave author's notes for the end of chapters but this time I'm putting it at the start because I don't want to break your immersion. I started working on this chapter immediately after posting chapter 9. So for the past 11 days, I've been writing nonstop. I had fun but I'm exhausted now so I'm going to need to take a little break. This chapter concludes the first arc of the story, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also, I'm going to be adopting a new approach to my writing. Before I was posting chapters as they were completed but I want to be at a point where I can update regularly. So I'm going to write several chapters ahead before posting anything. This way I can give myself a buffer if I have to stop writing due to school or work and I can take more time to edit and avoid any inconsistencies in my writing. Of course what this means for you is that you'll have to wait a little while until the next chapter, but when I am posting again you'll see releases coming out more regularly. I want to thank everybody who has supported me thus far. Aragon365 and WhiteWolfWhispers you two especially, you guys have been my rocks throughout this process. I hope we continue having a great time together and that this little fanfic that started with a handful of vague ideas ends up becoming something really great. Anyway, I've talked your ear off enough, please read and enjoy and as always leave a review telling me what you think I love to hear from you all.

**The Day of Dousing**

The cheers from all sides of the of the throne room threatened to deafen Mello's finely tuned musician ears.

"I can't see anything can you?!" He tried to scream at Byorston.

"WHAT?!" Byorston screamed.

"I SAID CAN YOU SEE ANYTHING?!"

Byorston with his towering figure saw well above the crowd. "SHE'S WALKING DOWN THE AISLE. I THINK SHE'S GONNA PASS THROUGH THE PORTAL."

"I CAN'T SEE A DAMN THING. I'M MOVING FORWARD!"

"MELLO WAIT!" Sherry yelled as she grabbed his arm. "THEY TOLD US NOT BREAK RANKS."

"NO ONE WILL NOTICE, EVERYONE IS FOCUSED ON THE EMPRESS."

Mello attempted to push his way through the crowd but he was sharply pushed back by the people in front of him. "Irvid aes schwen!" a Nilfgaardian man yelled before pushing him back into a window.

The force of the nudge caused Mello to lose his footing and fall through. He fell into the open air outside the palace walls. Just as panic began to consume him he felt something tug on his ankles. He looked up at the window from where he fell to see Byorston and Sherry had grabbed both of his legs.

"I thought I was a goner," he yelled.

"You still might be, help us pull you up," Byorston said.

"Damn you, Mello, I told you not to break the ranks," Sherry cried, "why don't you ever listen to me?"

"Hey, Sherry if I wanted a woman to nag me I'd go see my mother," Mello bit back.

"You know we can still drop you," Sherry responded.

"You're not gonna do that, you don't have the nerve."

"Hmf," she let go of Mello's leg.

He felt himself slip from Byorston's grip. "Ok, ok, ok, I'm sorry, I'll listen to you, please don't let me die!" Mello squealed as Byorston grabbed his other leg.

"You know Mello, it's a good thing you're not a singer, otherwise that mouth of yours would get you in trouble on stage like it does off."

"Hilarious Byorston, you should quit the drum and go into comedy."

Mello slipped a little in Byorston's grip. "OK, OK, OK, IM SORRY JUST PULL ME UP ALREADY!" Mello screamed.

"By the gods," Byorston said in awe.

"What?" Meril yelled.

"Look," Byorston said.

Hanging upside down Meril looked over Nilfgaard city hovering high up in the air was a gray transparent image of the Empress walking down the aisle upside down.

"That's really amazing and all but can we be in awe AFTER you pull me up!?"

Byorston pulled Mello back in and the three minstrels continued to stare at the grayscaled image hovering over the sky. Now properly upright Mello could see that the image was not in fact upside down but a perfectly right-side-up image of the Empress walking through the portal into Novigrad.

"It's showing what's happening right now!" Byorston said excitedly as he looked over the crowd to confirm.

"Amazing, how did they do this?" Sherry asked excitedly.

"Magic," Mello said, "I always knew magic was powerful but to think it could do something like this."

"How many people do you think are seeing this?" Byorston asked.

"Everyone in the entire city at least, that thing is huge," Mello said.

"Hey look over, in the countryside. I think I see another one," Sherry pointed out.

"You're right."

"Is this happening all over the empire?"

"I don't know."

"Wait, look, she's about to say something."

Through the sky-borne image, the newly crowned Empress raised her hand in a gesture of silence. The throne room went quiet as she prepared to speak.

* * *

"I'm not a great orator," she said with a magically magnified voice.

"Still if you would lend me your ears I would like to say a few words," she paused again, making sure she had the crowds full attention. At this moment the entire world was hanging on the edge of her words.

"I did not have to take this crown. I did not have to come to Nilfgaard and become a Princess. And I most certainly did not have to come and stand here today addressing the entire world. In truth, I would have been much happier living the life of a vagabond etching out whatever living I could as I wandered from one small forgotten village to the next. Though it may be hard to fathom, a life like that is more preferable to me than a crown and scepter. Despite that, I still made the choice to be here. I still made the choice to bear this crown and stand in front of you today. I did not do this for myself, I did this for you, for all of you. I have seen more than my fair share of cruelty in this world. I've seen children forced to subsist on dog meat because their parents were killed senselessly in war. Nonhumans burned at the stake to satisfy the prejudices of the ignorant and the fanatical. The corrupt and powerful, growing fat off the misery and exploitation of the weak." She paused, giving her words a moment to marinate.

"I am no fool, I know a great deal of the misery I describe was caused as a result of a war that Nilfgaard started. I'm as much a victim of it as anyone else in the north. My own homeland of Cintra was raised to the ground in the first war. But the simple truth of the matter is that all of that is in the past now. The era of the sword and axe is over. The time of contempt has passed. A baptism of fire has spread across these realms and now it is up to us to rebuild from the ashes. The third northern war ended five years ago but its countless scars still litter the land like pockmarks after a plague. We must do better, we must become better. It's true, a great deal of suffering happened as a result of Nilfgaards wars, but as a result, we've reached a stage where such tragedies can never unfold again. As of today, both the Northern and Southern realms stand united under a single banner. Gone are the days when Kings would needlessly sacrifice their citizenry over petty squabbles. Gone are the days of trade wars and tariffs that always cripple the most vulnerable in society. I know we cannot simply forget the series of tragic events that brought us to this point. But the truth is, we genuinely have so much to look forward to now. At this very moment, this ceremony is being transmitted and projected via megascope across every major city on the continent. All the way from the capital in the South to Kovir and Poviss in the North. I know many of you, especially those of you who are followers of the Eternal Fire bristle at such brazen use of magic but open your minds to the possibilities for a moment. Imagine if everyone, not just mages were able to communicate using megascopes. No longer would anyone have to send letters over risky long distances in order to stay in touch with loved ones. Today, I crossed the twenty-thousand-mile span between Nilfgaard and Novigrad in the blink of an eye using giant portals which will be made available to everyone. Just imagine the implications for trade between these two portals alone. Imagine what can be done with an entire network of them. Earlier last year, a cure for the Catriona plague was developed by a Sorceress and now millions of lives will be saved. Miracles, true miracles are on the way now. And these are not miracles brought on by gods or some mystical flames. These have been brought on by people, men and women of all races and nationalities working hard for a better tomorrow. And you can all be a part of it. I believe that every person regardless of race or nationality has something good to offer others. If we could all learn to look past our biases and give each other a chance then we can build a better world for everyone. I can provide you with the means, but do you have the will?" She paused again. The entirety of both the throne room and the Temple were dead quiet. An intangible heaviness filled the air as the Empress took a deep breath and said the final words.

"I would like to believe that you do. And it is because I believe so that I am going to take a bold step forward." With an elegant flourish of her hand, the portal connecting the Imperial throne room to the Temple of Eternal Fire retreated backward, revealing for all to see the artifact for which the temple was named.

"People who worship this fire, this so-called 'Eternal Fire' believe that it protects from evil but that is a lie, a complete and utter lie. This fire does not have the power to protect anyone from anything. If it could then it would have warded off the Katakan that was attacking people in the city a few years ago. Additionally, corpse eaters regularly plague the city's sewers, and just this morning there was an incident where a young man was attacked by a host of specters. And yet, people still continue to worship this flame and as a result fanatics and corrupt tyrants are able to abuse that faith in order to persecute the innocent. All for what? For the sake of a bowl of burning oil and a centuries-old myth. I say this ends now. I aim to bring for an era of peace and prosperity. The age of enlightenment that I strive for cannot be born until the age of superstition dies. As such, I hereby announce and execute my first official decree as Imperator of the Nilfgaardian Empire. By the absolute power vested in me by Nilfgaardian law, I do hereby declare this occult artifact known as the Eternal Fire to be retired."

She pointed her right index finger upwards, and with one circular flick, a portal opened above the flames. An intense rush of air swept through the temple as the portal sucked the flames in. First, the flames raged, then they spiraled, and began to grow thin as the portal consumed it. In another moment the flames were reduced to mere flickers. From flickers, it went to sparks. From sparks to embers, until finally the Eternal Fire, the legendary sacred relic that had protected the great city of Novigrad since its founding, was no more.

* * *

The projected image in the sky faded away. Mello and his band stopped looking out the window and returned their attention back to the actual events unfolding in front of them.

"What now?" Byorstan asked.

"I suppose that's it then, we probably move on to the banquet now," Sherry answered.

The crowd was already beginning to murmur amongst themselves. It seemed that the ceremony was complete and that the feasting was soon to follow.

"No," came a loud cry that cut through the building din of the crowd.

"No," the cry repeated. It came from a man's voice on the Temple side of the portal. Mello immediately began fighting his way through the crowd, he recognized the voice that the cry belonged too. The Nilfgaardian nobility that he aggressively pushed aside cursed at him in their foreign tongue but he didn't care, he had to see this.

"No, no, no, NO! THIS WAS NOT THE DEAL! THIS WAS NOT WHAT WE AGREED!"

Mello managed to break through the front lines of the crowd just in time to see Hierarch Hammelfart charging at the newly crowned Empress.

From his narrow view Mello could make out the guards readying their weapons but the Empress raised her hand ordering them to stay their blades. The Hierarch lunged at the Empress who deftly sidestepped his assault with the grace of a dancer.

"YOU LIED TO US! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD LEAVE THE CHURCH IN PEACE!" the hysterical Hierarch bellowed.

"What I promised you was that none of your followers would be harmed and that the church could still continue to operate. Both of which are promises that still stand."

"Still stand? How can we be the Church of the Eternal Fire without the Eternal Fire?" the Hierarch angrily croaked.

"That's for you to puzzle out," she said coldly.

"Witch! You bloody horrid, half-bred witch. I should never have allowed this. I should have had you killed the moment you set foot in Novigrad. I should have had you captured and burnt at the stake like all your degenerate nonhuman friends."

"You know it's because you put those friends of mine to the stake that I decided to do this today. You really have no one to blame but yourself," she said nonchalantly.

"There will be war for this!"

"And who will fight it? You? Redania's armies have been subdued and assimilated into the Empire's ranks, your Temple Guard consists of at most a few hundred men, and the Witch Hunters serve me now. Face it, your Holiness, your cult is done."

"AHH!" the Hierarch tossed a fist at the Empress. His effort was spirited but futile as she caught his punch by the wrist and twisted his arm around, followed by a swift blow to his crotch from her free hand. "That was for the puffins," she said before following up with a hard knock to the Hierarch's jaw.

"That was for Chappelle."

While her left arm kept the Hierarch's arm twisted into submission her right hand began to pool with energy. "And this is for all the other innocent people you've killed."

"No, what are you doing? Keep your foul sorcery away from me."

Ciri ignored him as she inched her glowing hand to his face. "I can't conjure flames the way a normal sorceress could, which is a pity because I'd love to see you burn the way my friends did. However, if I concentrate my power intensely enough it generates heat, not much heat, but enough to leave a rather nasty burn."

"No, no, NOOOOO!" the Hierarch screamed as his flesh seared.

The people in the crowd turned away in disgust as the Hierarch screamed in pain.

"Doesn't feel so good to be on the receiving end does it, your holiness?" She said as she tossed him down.

"You'll pay for this! The Eternal Fire will punish you for this!" The disgraced Hierarch cried as he clutched his burned cheek in agony.

"Look at the bowl old man. The Eternal Fire is gone, dead, and look what's happened. Absolutely nothing. No darkness has descended upon us, no great evil is stepping forward to blight us all. Do you want to know why? It's because there was never anything special about that fire other than how old it was. It had no magical or supernatural properties of any kind. It was nothing but an ordinary fire that had been burning for far too long."

"Spare me your lies witch. You know nothing," he screamed.

"YES I DO!" she screamed back, "we performed all manner of tests on that relic, there was nothing special about it."

"Lies!"

"Grab him," she ordered.

The guards moved in immediately to seize the disgraced Hierarch, pulling him up by his arms and exposing his burned face for the world to see. The Empress walked over to the bowl that contained the fire and motioned for the guards to drag the Hierarch along.

"Have a look for yourself old man, there is nothing here, nothing but hot oil and charred up bones. Wait a minute…why is there a skeleton in here? Did you toss someone into the bowl!"

"No never," the Hierarch protested, "we would never desecrate the sacred flame in such a manner."

"Then what is this?" The Empress reached into the bowl and pulled up a black object and raised it up high for all to see. The objected was covered in char and ash but it was undoubtedly the top half of a skull.

"Who was this?" the Empress asked, half questioning half demanding. She lowered her hand and turned her attention back to the Hierarch not noticing when her hand began to spark with magic.

"Your Imperial Majesty, ze skull," one of the guards pointed.

"Hmm," she raised the skull up again and examined it thoroughly. Suddenly, a great flash erupted from where the Empress stood.

* * *

"Ahh, what the hell was that?" Meril yelled as he rubbed the blindness out of his eyes. When he looked at the scene before him all hell had broken loose. People in the courtyard ran away in a screaming panic. In the center of the temple, he saw Ciri suspended in mid-air in a column of sorcerous energy. The energy spiraled upwards and flew straight into the black skull now hovering high above the bowl from where it was found.

"AHHHH" she screamed.

"Ze Empress is in danger, we must move," Morvran commanded, "Viscount Bernadotte coordinate with the guard to secure an escape route for ze Empress and take Lady LaVellete with you. Cynthia, you're with me, we must retrieve the Empress immediately."

"I'm coming with you," the red-haired women spoke up.

"This is a matter of Imperial security Merigold, there is no need for Kovir to get involved."

"To hell with Kovir, my little sister needs my help."

"Suit yourself but do not interfere," the General said before ordering the two guards in the corners. "You two, see to it that our guests leave safely. Come now sorceresses we must go."

With no time to waste the General made his exit leaving Meril behind.

" _What should I do?"_  Meril thought.

" _This is clearly a problem that's magical in nature. This is supposed to be the very thing I'm trained to handle. Should I act? But nobody asked me too, and I have no idea what's going on. Witcher's should never raise their swords unless there's coin involved, that's what Otto always said."_

"Zis way everybody, we will escort you out safely, you too vatgern," the Nilfgaardian soldier said as he began directing everyone out of the box.

" _That's right she has armies and mages at her disposal she'll be fine without me there's no reason I should get involved."_

"AHHHHH!" more screams erupted from the crowds. Hooded wraiths with long rusty swords exploded into the courtyard. Before he could blink the ghost decapitated a woman in front of her screaming children.

"DAMMIT I CAN'T IGNORE THIS!" He reached into his satchel and in a flash, he pulled out his silver katana. With the fury of an animal possessed he launched himself from his seat and through the front window.

As he fell through the air he held his sword overhead and swung it down hard on a wraiths head as he landed with a roll. The impact of falling one story to the ground passed right through him thanks to his expertly timed roll, and without losing a single beat he was back on his feet. He ran straight for the wraith that had decapitated the woman and was now raising his sword against her terrified children.

In the blink of an eye, he intercepted the ghostly blade, and with an expert flourish cut straight across the specters neck. The creature vanished instantly. He looked behind him to check on the children, wide-eyed and paralyzed with fear. "RUN!" he barked.

Without checking to see if they were listening he ran to the next victims. One was a nobleman who had a rapier in hand as he attempted to fend off a wraiths erratic attacks. Meril quickly dispatched the specter while it was occupied with the nobleman.

"That won't do you any good," he said to the nobleman, "these things can only be killed with silver."

"Very well, in that case, I'll ahhhhh" the nobleman screamed as a specters sword emerged from his chest. A wraith had suddenly materialized behind him and stabbed him in the back.

"Dammit! Grahhhhh!" Meril cursed as he drove his own sword through the nobleman to get to the wraith behind him.

"You stabbed me," the nobleman croaked as the wraith dissipated.

"The wraith stabbed you first, I just made sure it didn't get away with it."

"Heartless muuutaant," as the nobleman's breath left his body Meril pulled his weapon out, now slick with the blood of a human.

" _Focus Meril focus, you didn't kill him he was already as good as dead, now focus. I count one, two…more then ten wraiths in the courtyard, people scrambling, guards already trying to get a handle on it. Blood flying through the air. Wait, blood?"_

Streams of blood flew through the air as if being sucked in through an invisible straw. Meril noticed one of those streams coming from his sword. The blood of the nobleman he had just run his blade through was lifting away and flowing towards the skull as it lit up in a column of magical energy. The blood spiraled around it as if in some sort of ritualistic dance. Other bones floated up from the bowl to join the skull. First, a lower mandible, followed by vertebrae, then a series of ribs.

" _I don't know what that thing is but whatever it is, it's using blood magic to put itself together. I gotta get to it before it finishes."_

Sword in hand he ran straight towards the rushing pillar of energy.  _"That power is coming from Ciri and going straight into the bones, it must be draining her, shit my medallion won't stop shaking, I've never seen this much power at once. Gotta cut it off."_

Within moments he was upon the centrifuge of mixing forces. Air and blood rushed past him violently as he approached the rising plume of light. There floating in front of him hung the Empress. Her head was rolled backwards as her mouth hung open. Her screams filled his ears. Desperately he reached a hand out to her only to be promptly burned the moment he made contact with the energy surrounding her.

"Your Highness! Can you hear me?" he yelled.

"I CAN'T STOP!" she screamed.

"Give me your hand!" he yelled.

As if fighting invisible bonds she gritted her mouth closed and tried to reach out to him, he reached out again and again was rebuffed by the force surrounding her.

"Dammit, I can't get through. Hang on I'm gonna try something." He stabbed his katana into cracks between the Temple's floor tiles and then crossed his hands in the sign of Heliotrope.

" _Normally heliotrope is only good for creating small barriers to deflect spells, but if I focus the energy and shrink the coverage to just my left hand it should create a barrier that's just dense enough too…got it."_

His left hand glowed a bright blue as he thrust it forward into the green light. His hand felt like it was reaching into a furnace. The dracanid leather glove he was wearing disintegrated within seconds and his skin began to peel away. Still, he persisted until finally his hand met hers and with all the strength he could muster he pulled her out. The moment she was out the pillar blinked out of existence and she landed on top of him with a thud.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Tawny Owl," she whispered.

"What?"

"Tawny Owl," she groaned.

"Are you crazy? That's an extremely toxic substance, it's not safe for anyone besides Witchers and…sorcerers… right I forgot about that. Hang on."

He rolled her over onto her back. Her eyes were closed, she was passing out. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a vial with a purple liquid inside. "This is my last vial make it count."

He uncorked the bottle with his teeth then poured its contents down her throat. Her body convulsed rapidly as her eyes shot open. The veins in her face and neck bulged blue for a moment before returning to normal.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much," she answered as she pointed her hand to the now nearly fully assembled skeleton.

"Andal skamina," she chanted. Nothing happened.

"What in the blazes. Andal skamina!" she repeated the words to no avail.

"Hieren vich aes hen ichaer," still nothing.

"What's wrong?" Meril asked.

"I think that thing drained my powers," she said with panic rising in her voice.

"Dammit, alright I'll have to do this the Witcher way then," he said as he reached for his sword.

"Wait, your hand."

He examined his left hand, moving his fingers caused him incredible pain and parts of his skin were burned away revealing the exposed pink dermis beneath. "It's just a second-degree burn, it looks worse then it is."

"You can't fight with that."

"Of course I can," he said as he reached into his satchel. "I just need a little…swallow."

He promptly uncorked the bottle and poured half of its contents on his hand and drank the rest. The alcohol and the toxins burned but the wounds began to close and scabs quickly started to form over the exposed skin. "I'm going in," he declared as he grabbed his silver sword.

"Don't try to be a hero, just hold it off until reinforcements arrive."

"A thousand crowns," he said.

"What?"

"A thousand crowns that's my price for killing this thing."

"Are you serious? You're negotiating a contract now of all times?"

"Do we have a deal?"

"Fine, we have a deal now don't do anything…" he ran off before she could finish speaking, "stupid."

Sword in hand he ran straight towards his prey. The skeleton was now fully assembled and slick with all the blood that it had been collecting. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a small orb-like object flowing along the streams of blood.

" _Is that an eyeball?"_

His suspicion was proved correct when the object flowing on the bloodstream lodged itself in the left socket of the skull. The organ twisted around in the socket as if screwing itself into place before steadying and looking dead ahead straight at Meril. The witcher stopped short and took a defensive stance unsure what the skeletal creature was about to do next.

" _I think I get it now, it's using the wraiths to kill all the people around so that it can steal their blood and organs to pull itself back together."_

Flesh began to attach itself onto the skeleton in bloody patches. Muscles began to shape around its bony arms, a heart flew into its chest cavity and began beating with an iridescent green glow. It raised a half fleshed arm and with a single swipe summoned five wraiths that surrounded Meril on all sides. He took a fast swing at one of them, but it faded out before his blade could make contact, and then faded back in with an accompanying flurry of sword strikes that he struggled to parry. While he was thus occupied the other wraiths lunged at him.

" _Come on, remember what Otto taught you. Deflect the attacks that are fatal, sponge the ones that aren't."_

He danced like a whirlwind, trying to evade their attacks. Silver and steel clashed and clinked as he rushed to keep his guard up. Their blades poked holes in his jacket but didn't break through his layer of chainmail. The concussive force of the stabs made keeping his footing difficult as he narrowly managed to avoid a swipe to his head.

" _I don't have time for this."_  He formed the sign of Yrden and tossed it down. The sign's glyph appeared beneath his feet and began shooting tendrils of electricity in the direction of his enemies.

" _That should keep them occupied for a minute."_

He cut his way out of the wraiths clutches and made a beeline straight for the source of all the chaos. He thrust his hand into his satchel and pulled out a dimeritium bomb.

" _Only got one, better make it count,"_  he tossed the bomb. The combustive arced perfectly towards its target and seemed ready to make a direct hit when suddenly it raised a semi-fleshed arm up and caught it as though it had simply been tossed a ball. It wrapped the bomb in layers of sinuous muscle tissue before crushing it. The resulting explosion was contained in a ball of ensorcelled muscle that frayed and turned gray before dropping off the skeletal hand. That same skeletal hand pointed its bony index finger at Meril and a small vortex of blood began to swirl around it, forming into a spear-like point that shot at Meril like an arrow.

He barely managed to step out of the arrow's path in time. The projectile exploded on the stone tile and caused a large dent with cracks that spread several inches. As Meril took quick stock of the attack's impact he noticed a tear in the chainmail just above his left hip.  _"That attack only grazed me but it still managed to cut through steel chainmail. If I get hit with one of those I'm done."_

He barely had another moment to think before his enemy prepared three more bloody arrows. "Shit," he cursed as he threw up the sign of quen.

The arrows blasted his shield reverberating the thin bubble he had cast around himself and threatening to shatter his guard with every blow, but he stood firm. The moment the barrage was done he dropped the shield and ran. With one deep breath, he took a massive leap and swung his sword overhead. The sword came down hard on the center of the fiendish creature's skull.

The world came into perfect focus. Time slowed down as felt the force of the impact flow through his arms. Just as the elation of landing a solid blow was beginning to fill him it was replaced with horror as right before his eyes a crack formed across the edge of his blade at the exact point where it made contact with his enemy's skull. The crack spread across the tang of his weapon and like a crushed twig it snapped. The top half of his sword flew backwards and lodged itself in his right shoulder. He landed on the ground face first, lodging the sword in his shoulder in even deeper.

"Ahh," he screamed as he struggled to get back to his feet. From behind him, the creature descended to the ground. Its skeletal form was now covered head to toe in stolen meat. It resembled a man that had been flayed after being starved for several months. More blood and organs continued to flow into it as wraiths continued to slaughter people in both the temple and palace.

Fighting through the pain, he gripped the half of the sword blade lodged in his shoulder and forced it out. The moment the blade was free, the blood from the wound immediately began flowing towards the creature, adding to the flesh that it had stolen.

The still sharp edge of the broken sword cut his exposed and injured left hand, while his right gripped tightly on the handle of the splintered bottom half. He stared his enemy down, the skinless man approached him slowly as long claws began to form on its hands. It had two eyes now, one brown, the other blue, both dead. Makeshift weapons in hand he charged. With all the fury he could muster he slashed, cut, stabbed and tore. Doing everything he could to strike his enemy down. The silver caused the monster's flesh to burn but every wound he inflicted healed immediately as the creature drew in more blood from the surrounding carnage as well as Meril's own wounds. In one last desperate rush, he thrust his weapons into its chest. Smoke rose from the burning meat but his blades did not pierce further.

"Dammit, why won't you die?" He let his weapons go and formed the sign of ixii with his right hand. His right hand sparked with electricity as he aimed one last desperate punch the skinless man's flayed face. The muscle fibers crackled beneath his fist as electricity coursed through it until finally it faded leaving little more than a burn on its exposed skinless cheek. As electricity faded so too did the last vestiges of Meril's strength.

" _Dammit, that was my third time using ixii today. My body's done."_

As he began to collapse to the ground he felt a hand on his throat. It squeezed hard on his windpipe as it hoisted him up above its head. He could feel the claws on its skinless hand digging into his neck, threatening to tear his throat open. In its other hand, the creature readied a spike formed of solid blood.

"What are you?" the young Witcher gasped.

Through gritted skeletal teeth the lich uttered three words as he drove his crimson spike through Meril's stomach. "I am…Deathless."

* * *

" _And on the 5th of Birke in the year 1277, the newly crowned Imperator of Nilfgaard Cirilla Fiona Ellen Riannon, had in exercising her Imperial Authority elected to retire the occult artifact known as the Eternal Fire. In doing so she incited much sedition from forces both supernatural and mundane. This day, known by the common folk as 'The Day of Dousing' marked the beginning of the Black Winter War."_

_-_ Nilfgaardian Imperial Annals Volume XVII:  
The Cirillian Era


	11. Indisposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, so I know it's been far too long since my last update. I've been really busy with school and searching for a job. Not gonna lie I'm actually still busy. My original plan was to build a stockpile of 10 chapters so that I can update weekly as I continue to work but I haven't had time to do that and I've had this chapter on hand for I don't know how many weeks now. I don't see any openings in my schedule in sight and I'm tired of waiting to upload just as I'm sure those of you who enjoy this story are also tired of waiting. So here is a chapter now, and also after this, the story will be on hiatus for another month or so but I'm not giving up. I will see this through to the end.

** Indisposed **

Meril awoke to a corrosive smell mixed with something sweet. While he struggled to open his eyes and shake the blurriness away his nose was at full attention. He caught whiffs of phenol, lye, aniseed, formaldehyde, and various alcohols that he couldn’t place. All powerful disinfectants that told him he was in a place that took cleanliness far too seriously. As his vision came into focus he was able to confirm his suspicions. He found himself lying down in a bed that was backed against a wall and lined in a row with dozens of other beds, all of which were filled with people who were heavily bandaged and filled with tubes. A similar lineup of beds stood across from him on the opposite wall, all similarly filled with invalids. The room itself was one long hallway with a high vaulted ceiling. At the upper portions of the walls stained glass windows filtered colored light into the room lending a calming aura to a room filled with sickness.

He was in a hospital that much was plain to see. But where though? A quick glance at the stained glass windows answered his question. The windows depicted a scene of a great battle, of men in black armor against an army of men in differing colors. The defining piece of the glass, however, came in the form of a yellow sun with a face painted on it.

_“Nilfgaard.”_

Meril began to prop himself up in the bed. As he did so he realized he was naked, covered only by the bedsheets. He saw that there was a needle and flexible tube lodged into his forearm, and at his waist, there was a bladder that appeared to be connected his abdomen, which he now realized had a large round puncture wound that was stitched up in the middle of his stomach. “What happened to me?” he groaned.

“You were stabbed in ze stomach, by some kind of object that has been described to me like a spike conjured from blood,” answered a voice that was old and gravelly yet still distinctly Nilfgaardian.

Meril turned to the origin of the voice at his left and saw the familiar old face of the doctor he met in the princess’s bedchamber. “I remember you, you’re the one who stitched up that Halfling back in the palace.”

 “Ze very same, forgive me I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I am Giscard Valdier et Adiun, surgeon and personal physician to the Imperial Family, now officially in the service of Her Imperial Majesty, long may she reign.”

 The old man’s face was clean shaven but wrinkled and covered in liver spots. He didn’t show any baldness though despite his clear age, sporting a full head of frizzy white hair. As he registered the old man’s face in his mind his recollection of events prior came back to him in full force. “Ah shit, the princess, I mean the Empress. What happened? Is she…”

“She’s fine boy, in much better shape zan you as a matter of fact.” The doctor approached to examine Meril up close.

Meril relaxed at hearing the doctors words, “that’s good to hear. How long was I out for?”

“Three days, ze injuries you sustained would have undoubtedly killed you had ze sorceresses not acted as quickly as ze did.”

Meril let that information sink in. _“Three days, dammit, what happened? What was that thing? And why couldn’t I hurt it? I read every book in the library at Szolka Smoka and not one of them described a creature like that.”_ Just as he was about to get lost in thought he felt a sharp pushing sensation at his abdomen. He felt something exiting his body at his abdomen and took stock again of the bag at his waist.

“What is this thing?” Meril asked pulling on the bag at his waist.

“Careful, zere is three days vorth of ysgarthi in there.”

“Ysgarthi?” Meril questioned.

“Excrement, shit boy.”

“What the? Why do I have a bag of shit attached to my waist?”

“Technically, it is attached to your large intestine. The reason being your entrails were shredded by what I believe was some kind of spear. Your fortunate zat zere were sorceresses versed in medical magic on the scene, elsewise your guts would have spilled everywhere and become food for ze crows. Zey used magic to stitch your intestines back together, but you vill not be able to safely pass waste through zem until they have fully healed, hence ze need for ze bag.”

“How long will it take to heal?” Meril asked.

“At ze rate, you’re currently healing, I would guess two maybe three weeks.”

“Three weeks!?” Meril shouted with his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Remarkable isn’t it?” the doctor continued, plainly confusing Meril’s shock with his own fascination. “A normal human would take several months to recover from the wounds you sustained, and even then would likely be attached to a colostomy bag for the rest of their lives.”

Meril was about to protest, he didn’t find being bedridden for three weeks to be in any way pleasing or ‘remarkable’ as the doctor put it. Three weeks in bed meant three weeks that he wasn’t working and wasn’t earning any money and he had to save up to buy a new horse and repair his broken equipment. His equipment… _” shit my katana.”_

“Where is my gear?” he asked the surgeon.

“Your gear?” Giscard asked.

“My weapons and armor.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid I cannot answer zat. You were already stripped down once you were placed under my care. However, it is likely zey were confiscated by ze Imperial Guard as we do not allow weapons other zen zose held by ze guardsmen into zis ward.”

“My weapons are the tools of my trade doctor? Where are they.”

“Ah yes, your trade, hunting vampires isn’t it?” the old doctor said with a chuckle.

_“Is he laughing at me?”_ Meril thought.

“Surely wooden steaks and garlic are not difficult items to replace,” he continued smirking.

“Are you making fun of me?” Meril asked offended.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the old doctor said in feigned apology, his smirk never faded.

Meril felt sour, clearly, this man found something about him amusing but he didn’t know what. He decided not to press the issue however and decided to prioritize getting information. “So what happened exactly? After I passed out?”

“Honestly, I was hoping you could tell me. The crown is keeping a tight lid on what happened. All I know is that there was an attack at the coronation, and the attack was magical in some nature. The other survivors are mumbling about wraiths and a man who stole their skin. I presume they experienced some sort of mass hallucination caused by powerful illusion magic.”

“That was no hallucination,” Meril said.

 ________________________________________________________________

Ciri groaned as she dipped her quill into the inkwell and affixed her signature to yet another royal decree. This one had something to do with increasing the toll on some road in Metina. Honestly, she didn’t have the energy to look at it or any other paper critically anymore. This sheet must have been the hundredth or second-hundredth document she signed today. In all the preparation she had undergone to become empress, nothing had prepared her for the mountains of paperwork that ruling the largest empire in the world required.

The door to the cloistered study opened and another stack of papers on a pair of legs walked in.

The stack of papers spoke to her in Nilfgaardian. “Pardon the intrusion your Imperial Majesty, and forgive my inability to bow, my burden prevents me from doing so. I bring me the…”

“Bloody hell more?” Ciri responded.

“Quaesen?” the man responded confused, evidently he didn’t speak the common tongue.

“Just put it on the desk,” Ciri said in Nilfgaardian, her tone dejected.

The clerk did as he as she asked. With the stack of papers put down, she was able to observe him properly. She still hadn’t learned the names and faces of all the people who worked in the palaces administration so she thought it would be worth her time to study him. He was middle-aged, with clear signs of advanced age beginning to set in. His face while not fully wrinkled just yet was beginning to fold in on itself like a mastiff, his hair was thin and black and was going gray in some places. Set on his low bridged nose was a pair of clerks spectacles, the left lens of which was cracked. His attire was typical of a Nilfgaardian courtier, namely a black and white doublet and pants, it seemed fairly standard fair for one who worked in the administration of the imperial palace but Ciri took a closer look and noticed several stitches in the man’s clothes. The stitches were expertly laced, undoubtedly by very well practiced hands, and overall the man’s clothes seemed immaculately well kept despite clearly being quite old.

“What’s your name?” Ciri asked the man in Nilfgaardian. The language still felt strange in her mouth. The Nilfgaardian language was technically just a variant of the Elder Speech, of which she was well versed in, but the way certain words and vowels were pronounced required more twisting of her tongue then she was comfortable with. She noticed how other ladies of the court would stifle laughter whenever they heard her speak in their tongue, apparently, she had a thick accent when she spoke it.

“My name is Garconne your Imperial Majesty,” the man answered formally.

“No surname?” Ciri asked.

“No, I’m afraid my blood is not quite blue enough for such privileges, your Imperial Majesty.”

“You can drop the imperial Garconne, your Majesty is just fine,” Ciri would have preferred the man call her by name but she knew that to do so would make him extremely uncomfortable. Nilfgaardian’s in the heartland clung to protocol and formality the way the Tousaintoi clung to tradition and wine. Having him drop one of the titles would be her compromise.

“Very well your Majesty is there anything else I may do to be of service,” Garconne said stiffly. Speaking to him gave Ciri the feeling of speaking to a wooden plank.

“Are you married Garconne?” Ciri asked.

“That I am, your Majesty,” Garconne replied, still stiff.

“For how long?” Ciri asked she wanted to see if she could get this man to loosen up. She needed the distraction after three mind-numbing hours of paperwork.

Garconne was slow to reply, “finally he answered, thirty-two years your Majesty.”

“That’s nice, any children?” she asked.

“The Great Sun has seen fit to bless us with three, your Grace. Two girls and a boy,” a slight smile began to form at the edge of his lips at the mention of his children.

“How old are they?”

“My eldest daughter is twenty-five, she just gave birth to my third grandson. My son is twenty-two and is currently studying in Vicovaro to become an alchemist, he’s close to earning his adept title. And my youngest daughter is sixteen, and is newlywed, to one of your Majesty’s soldiers. Fine young man, with your Majesty’s blessings I’m certain he will be a fine servant for the Empire.”

“Let your son-in-law know he has them. How did your son get into the academy? The tuition fee is five-thousand florins.”

“Ah, yes, we had to take a rather substantial loan out to fund his education, your Majesty. Ordinarily, such pursuits would be well out of the grasp of common folk such as ourselves, however, I had saved up enough from my wages from working in the palace that I was able to make a large enough down payment to have the loan approved. Between mine and my wife’s earnings we’re able to make just enough to pay the loans in regular installments.”

“You must have a lot of faith in your son, taking a risk like that.”

“Yes, but I believe it will be worth it. Even as a child, my Marcione has had a talent for potions. My brother Bosco, sun bless his soul, was an apothecary, he taught my son everything he knew before he passed.

“Sorry to hear that? How did he die?” Ciri asked compassionately, expecting to hear a story about an alchemic experiment gone horrible wrong.

“He choked on a chicken bone.”

Ciri chuckled involuntarily, “I’m so sorry, that was highly inappropriate of me.”

“No need to apologize your Majesty. We thought it was funny too after a while. Bosco was a talented apothecary but he lacked a great deal in the way of common sense, he was the kind of man who would leave his door unlocked because fumbling with keys was too troublesome.”

“What if someone robbed him while he was sleeping or out?”

“That’s what I told him. He answered by keeping all his money on him at all times. I finally got him to start putting his money in the bank after the third time his purse was cut.”

Ciri laughed, “you have an interesting family. How close is your son to graduate?”

“When last he wrote to me he said he was at most another year away from earning his adept papers.”

“Let him know that if he proves himself there could very well be a place for him here at court. I have a great many projects planned for the near future, and I will need many skilled mages and alchemists to accomplish them.”

The middle-aged clerk's eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you, your Imperial Majesty, thank you, I don’t know what to say, thank you.”

“There’s no need for that. Talent and good service should always be rewarded. How much of the loans have you paid off?”

Including the downpayment, almost two-thousand florins.”

“Oh, so you’re almost a quarter of the way there.”

“Well yes, but then there is the interest to consider and with a rate of ten-percent…I’m sorry your Majesty I should not be discussing such matters with you.”

“How much do you still have to pay off?””

“About four-thousand five-hundred your Majesty,” Garconne said sheepishly.

“What? That’s a thousand and a half more than the actual tuition to Vicovaro.”

“I’m aware your Majesty, but the usury fees must be paid, nothing to be done about it.”

“Who is your lender?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Who is your lender?” she repeated slowly.

“The Assidiea Bank,” Garconne answered nervously.

“Tomorrow bring your loan contract to me, I’ll take care of it.”

“Your Majesty I cannot accept, that is entirely too generous.”

“How long have you been in the palace’s service Garconne?”

“Thirty-nine years your Majesty. I started as a kitchen hand when I was twelve.”

“So you’ve been in service to the Imperial Family for nearly your entire life?”

“That would be accurate to say yes,” Garconne said sheepishly.

“The way I see it, the amount of time you’ve spent here is too generous. Talent and good service should always be rewarded Garconne. Bring me your loan contract tomorrow, that is an order, from your EMPRESS,” she said firmly.

“Yes, your Imperial Majesty,” Garconne gave her the traditional formal bow and departed from the office.

She watched him leave with a notable spring in his step that made her smile, it was good to be able to do nice things for people without thinking of the cost. _“This is one part of the job I think I can get used to very easily.”_

As she began to sink back into her work she heard a pair of light footsteps enter the office. She didn’t need to look up, she knew those particular footsteps quite well.

“I just passed a rather giddy looking clerk in the hall, did you say something to him?” Avallha’c asked.

“Nothing much just offered to pay off his debts.”

“How much were they?” the elven sage asked.

“Forty-five hundred florins,” Ciri answered as she nonchalantly continued her paperwork.

“That’s entirely too generous.”

Ciri chuckled, “he said the same exact thing.”

“Because it’s true,” Avallha’c said in a tone that was halfway between amusement and boredom.

“It’s no matter, an amount like that is a drop in the bucket for the imperial treasury. Besides, that money will just flow back to us anyway after we levy income taxes, the ministry of revenue is surprisingly efficient.”

Avallha’c nodded before waving his hands, a brief flash of light passed and a comfortable mahogany chair cushioned with red velvet materialized out of thin air. Avallha’c sat in it.

“Did you conjure that or create it?” Ciri asked.

“If you were a fully fledged mage you would have been able to answer that question yourself,” he said.

“Avallha’c we’ve been over this. I can’t use normal magic, my elder blood won’t allow it.”

“From what Merigold and Yennifer told me, you were able to use it just fine in your childhood.”

“I lit several cottages on fire, and never properly learned to control it, and that was all before the power of my blood kicked-in.”

“From what I can diagnose you are suffering from a mental block, your blood has nothing to do with it.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter, I’m powerful enough without it,” Ciri said curtly.

“Oh, so your powers have come back in full force then?” Avallha’c questioned.

“I managed a few sparks this morning.”

“Show me,” Avallha’c ordered his tone becoming serious.

Ciri put her quill down and pointed her index fingers towards each other. She concentrated for a few seconds before a tiny current of green lightning zipped between her fingertips. “It’s just a small amount but it’s an improvement over the last couple of days.”

“You should come to the lab, let Nial and I examine you properly. We need to know the full extent of what creature did to you.”

“I know what it did to me!” Ciri snapped, “I felt it. It drained me, pulled the power right out of me like milk through a straw until nothing was left.”

“All the more reason to examine you, we do not know whether or not this is permanent.”

“It’s not that much I know for sure. I can feel it, in my gut. It’s as if three days ago my body contained a raging inferno that was suddenly quelled and left only embers.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Avallha’c noted.

Ciri blushed as the irony of her simile hit her, “but now slowly but surely those embers are picking up again.”

“Let us hope that it is not too slowly,” Avallha’c said quietly.

“It’s not as if I’m lacking for power at the moment. Even without my magic, I’m still the Empress of Nilfgaard. I command the largest empire this world has ever known, and thankfully, I actually have a plan for what to do with it.”

“Integrating magic at all levels of society,” Avallha’c said, voice barely above a whisper, “are you sure this is wise Zireal?”

“You’re having doubts now great sage? After we’ve already come this far?” Ciri asked mildly amused.

“We’ve not yet gone too far to turn back,” he said.

“This is because of that creature that appeared during my coronation isn’t it?”

“We still do not know for certain what it was. The only thing I can say for certain is that it was old, very old, I had to cast an alder curse on it just to ward it off, and that might have worsened the situation.”

“The curse you cast, it was the same one that turned you into that mutated stump of a creature back then wasn’t it?” Ciri asked concern slipping into her voice.

“Not exactly the same, but similar, in any case, I’m not certain if it even worked.”

“What do you mean? You saw how it recoiled when the spell hit.”

“It was not meant to make it recoil it was meant to warp and split every muscle fiber on its body.”

“Which it did,” Ciri noted.

“While it simultaneously reknit itself as my curse ran its course. It controlled individual strands of muscle tissue Zirael, I’ve never seen anything like it before. When word spreads of the foul monster that the Eternal Fire was containing not only will you be denounced as a blasphemer you will also be considered a fool for having been wrong and public opinion in regards to magic will decline even further. So I ask you again Zirael. Are you certain that the path you have chosen is the wisest course of action?”

Ciri slouched in her high backed chair for a moment. Her left arm slumped over the rest as her right hand pinched the bridge of her nose. She sat quietly for a moment thinking, before finally answering. “Magic is a part of this world Avallha’c. Maybe not a natural part, but a part. You and I both know for a fact that it can be a force for good when used responsibly. Magic is the best means this world has to progress but superstition and fear have ruled people for too long. The only way to get people used to the idea of magic is to make it so that they are exposed to it on a daily basis. That is the course I’ve decided would be in the best interest of this world.”

The elven sage relaxed in his chair then waved his fingers into a formula. He pinched the air and the space around his fingers visible tensed as if he were pinching a stretched tarp. Then he pulled his hand back to pull out a dark green wine bottle followed by two goblets. Quietly he poured one glass passing it to Ciri before pouring another for himself.

“Beauclair red again?” Ciri asked. She took the wine but did not drink.

“It is the only vintage I find to be comparable in quality to wine from Tir Na` Lia,” Avallha’c said as he sipped.

“You need to take it easy on the wine Avallha’c I don’t think I’ve seen a day in the past year or so when you didn’t have a goblet in your hand,” she said.

“There’s not much else for me to do Zireal.”

“There is plenty for you to do. You have an apprentice to train, experiments to run, schemes to plot, projects to help me build, and anything else I happen to need an elven sage for.”

“Bah, those things are all of ‘ _this’_ world,” he said with a hiss.

“And just what’s so terrible about that?” she asked challengingly.

“I told you Zireal, this world does not matter to me as it does to you. While I do have many memories of this world, some fond, others not. In the end this is not my home. The people who live here are not _‘my’_ people. And while I have no feelings of ill will towards this world, I have no reason to work to its benefit either. I am only here now because I have nowhere else to be for the moment,” he took a big swig from his goblet as he finished.

“What about the elves of this world? The Aen Sheide? Are they not your people? Many of them pray every day that their Aen Elle cousins will come save them from the tyranny of men.”

“They are naive, if the Aen Elle did come here they would come to conquer not to save.”

“Still you’re here anyway so you may as well help. By your own admission, you have nothing better to do. At the very least you can finish training Nial.”

“He’s already close to reaching the limits of his potential, there won’t be much more I can do for him soon.”

“You say that as if you’re not proud of him.”

Avallha’c shrugged, “he’ll be a fine mage and a talented enchanter, but it has become increasingly clear to me that he is not fit to be an Aen Saevherne as I had initially hoped.”

“Any particular reason why?” Ciri asked.

“It’s difficult to explain, the simplest answer I can give is that he lacks the capacity for it. Nonetheless, I believe he will be of great use to you, especially with his talent for crafting trinkets and baubles.”

“Those trinkets and baubles may end up revolutionizing the technology of this world.”

“If a lantern filled with glowing crystal will be a revolution to your people then you truly would be doomed if the Aen Elle ever come.”

“Fortunately, we know that is never going to happen,” Ciri said, “now if you’ll excuse me I have ruling to do.”

Ciri returned to her paperwork, picking up another document that requested approval to build a new bridge across some river in Vicovoro.

“Why are you handling this?” Avallha’c asked.

Ciri looked up from her papers to see Avallha’c was reading one of the documents. “Approval to collect tributes from vassal states, requests for Imperial citizenship, tax deliberations, this is work for ministers and bureaucrats, not monarchs. Why is the imperial cabinet not handling all of this?” the elven sage asked.

“Because…” Ciri started, “actually that’s a good question. Why am I doing this myself? We have hundreds of quill pushers in the government.”

She removed herself from the desk and exited the well-furnished study. The guards outside the door faced her and bowed in the traditional manner with feet propped back and arms outstretched. “Do you require anything your Imperial Majesty? We’ll be happy to send for a servant to fetch it.”

“Get me the chief minister of finance,” she demanded.

“Um, apologies your Imperial Highness, but his Lordship is indisposed at the moment,” the guard answered nervously.

“Indisposed you say? Ok, how about the customs minister.”

“Indisposed,” the guard answered again.

“Treasury?”

“Indisposed.”

“Is that so, what’s your name soldier?” Ciri asked.

“Erval, your Imperial Majesty,” the soldier answered.

“Who is your superior Erval?” Ciri asked.

“Why you, of course, your Imperial Majesty,” Erval answered.

“I mean your direct superior. Who ordered you to stand guard here today.”

“The…Grand Marshall your majesty,” the nervous soldier finally let out.

“Moehoen ordered you here himself?” Ciri asked.

“That would be correct your Majesty.”

“And out of curiosity where is the good Marshall?”

“He is…”

“Let me guess, indisposed.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Take me to them,” Ciri ordered.

“Your majesty we are under orders too…”

“NOW!”

 ________________________________________________________________

Morvran Voorhis sat and listened intently as the Emperor or rather former Emperor addressed the Imperial Cabinet. Emhyr spoke in a voice that was deep, powerful, and commanded respect. With the way he carried himself it was easy to forget that he had technically abdicated his throne three days ago. No one in the room seemed to care about that technicality though, as far as the men at this table were concerned, this man was still their ruler.

Around the long dark oak table littered with documents and ink stains sat the most powerful men in the Empire. Directly opposite him was the Minister of Finance Ifir Myr’Riandran, a thin bespectacled man of average height, who wore a rather out of fashion black felt cap with a quill in its brim, undoubtedly to cover the rather embarrassing bald spot he had developed in recent years. He had connections to the various banks throughout the Empire and helped to ensure that the Empire’s financial markets stayed stable enough to encourage investment.

To Ifir’s right sat Miurdin Var Reven, Minister of Revenue and Customs. A brown haired jovial looking man who had grown obese from too many bribes in the form of cake. Despite his gluttony, he had a sharp eye for numbers and a mind for bureaucracy, without him the Empire’s coffers would quickly run dry.

 To Morvran’s own right sat Havart var Moehoen, a man with a block-like face, wide bridged nose, and thick shortly cut black hair in the style of disciplined soldiers. Moehoen was Morvran’s direct superior after Emhyr, he served as Field Marshal of the Army during the war after Menno Coehoorn died, and was promoted to Grand Marshal after successfully leading Nilfgaard to victory over the Northern Realms, thus making him the highest ranking military officer in the entirety of the Empire.

Close to the head of the table, next to Emhyr was Ifir and Miurdin’s master, the man who controlled every coin that coursed through the Empire’s veins, Peter Eversten. Peter seemed to be about the same age as himself, he seemed quiet and unassuming with no distinguishing features whatsoever. At first glance, he seemed like the kind of man who would just fade into the background of any given situation, but observed in isolation such as here in the council chamber and the intense manner in which he listened and observed became evident. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, Morvran wasn’t even sure if the man breathed. He simply sat and listened with hands folded under his chin as he meticulously took in Emhyr’s every word.

Lastly, sitting to Morvran’s left at the end of the table across from Miurdin was a man whose impact throughout the Empire was virtually unknown by most, much like Morvran’s own influence. The man in question was young and handsome with hair the color of vibrant sunlight and eyes that shone like polished emeralds. At only twenty-seven years old Jan Calveit was the youngest general in the Nilfgaardian Army. He was the commander of the Vicovoro division and had led the Empire to victory in several key battles of the Northern War and various rebellions in the provinces. This was what most people in the court knew him for. What they did not know was that Calveit also sat on the board of chancellors at the Vicovoro Academy and was its chief patron. Though not a mage or scholar himself he had expanded and regimented the curriculum of the academy turning it from an institution that generated scholars of sporadic and inconsistent quality into the most frighteningly efficient manufactory of academics in the world. This effectively gave him control of the Empire’s supply of physicians, surgeons, lawyers, clerks, alchemists, and most importantly mages.

In the Northern Realms, before the witch hunts began, mages were held in high esteem and given places of honor as advisors to King’s and Queens. Here in Nilfgaard however mages were tools, and all of them were the property of the Emperor, not in name but in effect. Mages in Nilfgaard were forbidden to seek office or hold lands, they could not officially join the army’s ranks though they were beholden to the commands of army officers and commanders if the Emperor willed it. Furthermore, all new experiments dealing with magic had to be designed and approved by the mages academy or university board before being conducted, and under no circumstances without express permission from an authority where they allowed to cast spells in public. The Empire recognized the utility and power of magic and knew that to ban it outright as the fools in Redania where hellbent on doing before their defeat was not only stupid but counterproductive and stifled the overall advancement of society. At the same time, they could not simply be left to their own devices, the Lodge of Sorceresses was a perfect example of what that path leads to. Therefore the best solution was to allow mages to ply their trade within specifically well-defined limits. Boring? Perhaps. But it was a stable system, a system that most of the men at this table liked and had become rich and powerful as a result of. The fact that their new Empress was not only the most powerful sorceress in the world but also intended to integrate magic at every level of society was a serious threat to that system. 

“Morvran, where do we stand on tracking that beast?” Emhyr asked. Even the man’s questions sounded like commands.

Answering succinctly in Nilfgaardian, Morvran answered, “the creature leaves no tracks in the traditional sense, however, several eye witness reports speak of an unidentified magical object flying through the sky heading west. Interestingly, it’s sighting is also often followed by sudden windstorms with no rain nor thunder.”

“Just wind?” Emhyr asked.

“Just wind,” Morvran confirmed, “many of the eyewitness accounts especially the ones from peasant farmers believe that what they see is the Wild Hunt bored of constantly carrying frost and instead of bringing heavy wind.”

“And the status of the temple?”

“Closed to the public, our forces in the city have quelled the riots for now, but the dark energies that the creature left behind are still interfering with our ability to investigate the area properly or reclaim the bodies of the dead. I suspect we will need to perform an exorcism on the grounds.”

“Should we call in the priests of the sun?” Ifir asked mockingly.

“Don’t be ridiculous Ifir,” Calveit cut in with a voice that sliced like a knife, “this situation requires real power. I will assemble a team of mages specialized in the supernatural. And send them to Novigrad posthaste. We still have a working megascope in the Embassy yes?”

“Using magic to solve everything, perhaps you should try courting the princess Calveit,” Miurdin snickered.

“The Empress,” Morvran cut in, putting special emphasis on Ciri’s new title, “should also be made aware of the situation. Should we not have also invited her to today’s council?”

“That girl is not ready for the trappings of a crown and scepter,” Ifir said venomously, “she’s far too rash and idealistic. Her actions during the coronation are proof of this.”

Morvran was about to respond when Emhyr spoke up, silencing everyone. “That girl,” he said, “is my daughter and your Empress. You would do well to mind what you say about her Ifir.”

Ifir’s face turned red from embarrassment as he bowed his head in apology. “Forgive me my liege, I spoke too harshly. However, if I may say so, there is truth to my words harsh as they are. After all, is that not the reason why your majesty has opted not to invite her to today’s council.”

“Cirilla and I, have an understanding, let us leave it at that and focus on the task at hand. Now then, in regards to how to handle the Church.”

“We’ll need to rout them,” Morvran said, “before we could have simply pressed them into suzerainity and left them to their own devices the way Redania did, but now there is no chance the Church and the Empire can come to an accord. I recommend deploying more troops to Novigrad and rounding up all high ranking members of the clergy and guard before they can mount a resistance.”

“I second this,” Calveit said, “with the gate in operation we will be able to mobilize a large force from the capital immediately.”

“Once we’re done with the stick we’ll need to dangle some carrots,” Eversten said suddenly, “General Voorhis, can you also deploy emissaries from the merchant’s guild to connect with the guild in Novigrad?”

“I can certainly make such arrangements,” Morvran answered, “what did you have in mind?”

“A merger,” Eversten said, “the Novigrad Merchant’s Guild has trade networks that spread across the entirety of the northern realms. We’ve been trading with them for years through Metina and Nazair so convincing them of the benefits of joining with us shouldn’t be too difficult, and with his Majesty’s permission we can offer them favorable terms in tax and tariff agreements.”

Morvran was about to respond when suddenly the door to the council chamber flew open and a voice as furious as a flock of harpies shouted. “Don’t you mean, HER Majesty Count Eversten!” said the furious ashen-haired women.

“Cirilla,” Emhyr noted smoothly, the young woman’s sudden outburst not phasing him in the least. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know that I’m apparently not ready for the trappings of a crown and scepter,” she said angrily as Ifir’s face turned bright red.

She strode into the council chamber, fury marking her every step. She pointed a finger to Ifir, “You! You’re finished, you have until tomorrow morning to be gone from the capital.”

“Cirilla,” Emhyr said his voice even and stoic.

“I will not have another detractor or naysayer in a position of power to cut me down,” Ciri said firmly, “and before you say I’m acting rashly let me just remind you of the several dozen or so coups that you’ve stomped out over the years even if they were only…”

“You’re right,” Emhyr said simply.

“Eh?” Ciri said stopping short.

“In any other circumstance, you would be correct to remove Ifir from a position from which he could be a threat to you. In fact, in any other circumstance I might say that simply banishing him is far too generous.”

As the exchange between the two rulers played out, Morvran watched in amusement as Ifir’s face turned from beet red to ghostly pale.

“However,” Emhyr continued, “as it stands he is far too valuable an asset to be simply disposed of. He keeps our financial markets stable and efficient, thus ensuring that our coins and banknotes retain their value as they spread throughout the world.”

A tense silence formed in the room as the Emhyr and Ciri stared each other down. Finally it was broken when the Empress after taking a deep breath finally said to Ifir, “you got lucky today Ifir,” she said before striding up to the end of the table.

“We’ll discuss your failure to inform me of today’s meeting later, but for now there is business to discuss. Someone fetch me a damn chair!” she ordered. Within moments guards dashed out from the council hall and returned with a padded wooden chair that was fetched from the drawing room next door.

She took a seat at the unoccupied foot of the table, directly across from Emhyr. The two rulers locked eyes while the other men at the table shook their heads back and forth between them, before finally settling on Emhyr. “Continue,” the former Emperor said.

“I believe we were discussing deploying a large force to Novigrad,” Calveit said.

“Don’t we already have three full battalions holding the city?” Ciri asked.

Calveit turned to her, and answered politely, “I know after the events at the temple your Majesty was in convalescence from that creature's attack, so you may not yet be informed. In the wake of the events at the coronation, the city was consumed in riots. Several districts of the city were burnt to ash, the damage was particularly severe in the nonhuman quarters. The chaos lasted nearly two whole days. In addition to the property damages, we lost nearly three-hundred men attempting to restore order to the city. Furthermore, according to General Voorhis’ reports, there remains various groups of citizens and gangs who are organizing into something of a quasi-militia, the temple guard, what’s left of it at least, is also still an active threat. The situation calls for reinforcements.”

“I see,” Ciri said, “this presents us with an opportunity then.”

“An opportunity your Majesty?” Calveit asked.

“Riots produce people who have been injured and robbed. No doubt there are many innocent bystanders looking desperately for relief. If I go with a team of physicians and food distributors we might be able to finally start building some goodwill with the people. Additionally, if we deploy our engineers and architects we should be able to quickly rebuild the damaged portions of the city. Rebuild them in a more, Nilfgaardian style, if you catch my meaning.”

Calveit stroked his chin for a moment, considering the Empresses words. “Hmm, I see, yes, yes, I believe it is an excellent tactic, your Majesty.”

“Would you care to enlighten the rest of the council?” Ifir asked.

Morvran answered, “Her Majesty wishes to begin the work of assimilating Novigrad into the Empire.”

He answered in a manner that made it sound as if he’d just pieced it together there and then, though in truth the Empress had him hard at work on this plan for months now. His spy network had already penetrated deep into the city’s underworld, what was left of it at least, and they already had points of contact with the various merchant and craftsman guilds. The riots had thrown a bit of a stone in the wheel but not enough to keep it from turning. The other men at this table assumed that she was new to the throne and new to power and thus could exploit her inexperience. What fools they would soon realize they were.

“Wouldn’t that be a bit premature?” Miurdin asked, “will the Novigradi even be willing to accept Imperial Aid.”

“A valid concern,” Ciri answered, “I’m certain many will refuse at first, but I’m also certain many more will be desperate enough not to care. It’s an easy thing to forget, especially for people working in politics, but the average man typically doesn’t bite the hand that feeds him.”

“I agree with Cirilla,” Emhyr said, “our armies can hold the city but for as long as the people see us as invaders we will never be able to reap the benefits of having it. Grand Marshal!”

“Yes your Majesty!” Mooen said reflexively with a salute.

“Mobilize the ninth battalion to reinforce our troops in Novigrad.”

“It will be done,” the Grand Marshall said before standing up, bowing and exiting the chamber.

 Emhyr continued to issue orders, “Calveit, you are to assemble a team of mages to clear the grounds at the temple. Voorhis, you shall establish contact with the merchants guild in Novigrad, Peter and I will pen a letter with some terms you can bring them shortly.”

“Ehm,” Ciri coughed. She looked at her father sternly, tapping a finger on the table in annoyance.

“Cirilla I will leave the relief and reconstruction efforts to your direction. That will no doubt be the most public aspect of this occupation and will give you a chance to become better recognized as the new face of the Empire.”

“Very well,” Ciri responded, “I shall have General Voorhis accompany me then. No doubt we will have to make arrangements with the merchants to purchase supplies. Come, General.”

Morvran looked to Emhyr who nodded his ascent. “I will take my leave then,” Morvran said as he bowed to the former Emperor and then following Ciri out.

They left the council hall silently, walking side by side until they were out of earshot of any guards. “What was that?” she whispered to him.

“What was what?” Morvran asked keeping his voice equally low.

“Asking his permission to leave, I rule now, not him,” she said.

“That’s not the way the others see it.”

“They think me a mere puppet don’t they? A target to point daggers away from Emhyr’s back.”

“Well, that is the excuse his Excellency gave them.”

Ciri stopped and took note of what he had just said. Morvran had called Emhyr his Excellency rather than his Majesty. It was a small change, but Morvran noticed that it made the Empress smile ever so slightly.

“It can’t be helped,” she said, “after all the number of times that a ruler has been known to willingly abdicate their throne without deposition, coercion, or death can be counted on one hand. I shouldn’t be getting petty about this, but still, I’d thought at least they’d treat me with a bit more respect.”

“The men in that room where elevated to their status for their loyalty your Majesty. If they were the types to shift so easily Emhyr never would have allowed them so close. In addition, I believe they don’t like what it is you represent.”

“And just what do I represent to them?”

Morvran hesitated, trying to find the right words.

“You don’t have to mince words with me Morvo,” Ciri said.

Morvran breathed out, “I do despise that nickname.”

“I don’t care, Morvran is too much of a mouthful to keep saying all the time. And besides, you’ve already pledged your undying loyalty to me, surely you can put up with a little name-calling,” she teased.

“Very well,” he sighed.

“Anyway, you haven’t answered my question.”

“You represent a change to them. To them, you are something foreign and alien. Not only are you of foreign blood and temperament but you also possess magic of the highest caliber. Mages are seen as tools in Nilfgaard, servants to be made use of but nothing more. Seeing a sorceress on the throne, one who has publicly stated that her goal is to integrate magic at all levels of society represents a serious threat to the mechanism that has made them wealthy and powerful.”

“So what you’re saying is I can’t win them over without changing my plans.”

“Essentially yes.”

“Well, I’m not doing that, and if they won’t come to my side I’ll find the people who will. What have we heard from the King of Beggars?”

“Nothing, guards report that Bedlam disappeared after being escorted out of the temple. After that no contact. It’s possible he got caught in the riots.”

“That old codger,” Ciri shook her head, “not likely. He’s probably hunkered down somewhere until the storm passes. We need to find him quickly though. Have your agents speak to the city beggars if anyone can pass a message to him they can. Also, we need to think about how we’re going to inform the public about the monster that was hiding in the fire.”

“No need, we’re already implementing a plan as we speak.”

“What do you mean?” Ciri asked.

Morvran grinned, “His Holiness Hierarch Hammelfart, has graciously confessed to his crimes, and is being kind enough to stand on a pyre for us.”


End file.
